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4 





THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE 
By H. DE BALZAC 

SCENES FROM PROVINCIAL LIFE 

The Two Brothers 


(UN MENAGE DE GARCON) 


BALZAC’S NOVELS. 

Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley. 


Already Published ; 

PERE GORIOT. 

DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 

RISE AND PALL OP CESAR BIROT- 
TEAU. 

EUGENIE GRANDET. 

COUSIN PONS. 

THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 

THE TWO BROTHERS. 

THE ALKAHEST. 

MODESTE MIGNON. 

THE MAGIC SKIN (Peau de Chagrin). 
COUSIN BETTE.*' 

LOUIS LAMBERT. 

BUREAUCRACY (Les Employes). 
SERAPHITA. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
BOSTON. 


This volume is the property 
of the United States. 

HONORE DE BALZAC 

TRANSLATED BY 

KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 


THE 

TWO BROTHERS 



ROBERTS BROTHERS 

3 SOMERSET STREET 

BOSTON 

1889 , , 

• ■' ^ 


T2-3 

~rv 5 


Copyright^ 1887 ^ 

By Roberts Brothers. 



®n{t)fr0{t5 IJrtsa : 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 


DeDtcatton. 


TO 

MONSIEUR CHARLES NODIER, 

MEMBER OP THE FRENCH ACADEMY, ETC. 


JJERE, my dear Nodier, is a book filled with deeds 
that are screened from the action of the laws by 
the closed doors of domestic life ; but as to which the 
finger of God, often called chance, supplies the place 
of human justice, and in which the moral is none the 
less striking and instructive because it is pointed by 
a scoffer. 

To my mind, such deeds contain great lessons for the 
Family and for Maternity. We shall some day realize, 
perhaps too late, the effects produced by the diminution 
of paternal authority. That authority, which formerly 
ceased only at the death of the father, was the sole 
human tribunal before which domestic crimes could be 
arraigned ; kings themselves, on special occasions, took 
part in executing its judgments. However good and 
tender a mother may be, she cannot fulfil the function 


vi 


Dedication, 


of the patriarchal royalty any more than a woman can 
take the place of a king upon the throne. Perhaps I 
have never drawn a picture that shows more plainly 
how essential to European society is the indissoluble 
marriage bond, how fatal the results of feminine weak- 
ness, how great the dangers arising from selfish interests 
when indulged without restraint. May a society which 
is based solely on the power of wealth shudder as it 
sees the impotence of law in dealing with the workings 
of a system which deifies success, and pardons every 
means of attaining it. May it return to the Catholic 
religion, for the purification of its masses through the 
inspiration of religious feelings, and by means of an 
education other than that of a lay university. 

In the “Scenes from Military Life” so many fine 
natures, so many high and noble self-devotions will be 
set forth, that I may here be allowed to point out the 
depraving effect of the necessities of war upon certain 
minds who venture to act in domestic life as if upon 
the field of battle. 

You, have cast a sagacious glance over the events 
of our own time ; its philosophy shines, in more than 
one bitter refiection, through your elegant pages ; j^ou 
have appreciated, more clearly than other men, the 
havoc wrought in the mind of our country by the ex- 
istence of four distinct political S3"stems. I cannot, 
therefore, place this histor^^ under the protection of a 


/ 


Dedication. 


Vll 


more competent authority. Your name may, perhaps, 
defend my work against the criticisms that are certain 
to follow it, — for where is the patient who keeps silence 
when the surgeon lifts the dressing from his wound ? 

To the pleasure of dedicating this Scene to you, is 
joined the pride I feel in thus making known your 
friendship for one who here subscribes himself 

Your sincere admirer, 

De BALZAC. 


Paeis, November, 1842. 



THE TWO BROTHEKS. 


I. 

In 1792 the townspeople of Issoudun enjoyed the 
services of a physician named Rouget, whom they held 
to he a man of consummate malignity. Were we to 
believe certain bold tongues, he made his wife extremely 
unhappy, although she was the most beautiful woman 
of the neighborhood. Perhaps, indeed, she was rather 
silly. But the prying of friends, the slander of enemies, 
and the gossip of acquaintances, had never succeeded 
in laying bare the interior of that household. Doctor 
Rouget was a man of whom we say in common par- 
lance, “He is not pleasant to deal with.” Conse- 
quently, during his lifetime, his townsmen kept silence 
about him and treated him civilly. His wife, a demoi- 
selle Descoings, feeble in health during her girlhood 
(which was said to be a reason why the doctor married 
her), gave birth to a son, and also to a dsiughter who 
arrived, unexpectedly, ten years after her brother, and 
whose birth took the husband, doctor though he were, 
by surprise. This late-comer was named Agathe. 

These little facts are so simple, so commonplace, that 
a writer seems scarcely justified in placing them in the 
fore-front of his history; yet if they are not known, 
a man of Doctor Rouget’s stamp would be thought a 
monster, an unnatural father, when, in point of fact, 

1 


2 


The Two Brothers. 


he was only following out the evil tendencies which 
many people shelter under the terrible axiom that 
“ men should have strength of character,” — a mascu- 
hne phrase that has caused many a woman’s misery. 

The Descoings, father-in-law and mother-in-law of the 
doctor, were commission merchants in the wool-trade, 
and did a double business by selling for the producers 
and bujdng for the manufacturers the golden fleeces of 
Berry ; thus pocketing a commission on both sides. In 
this w%y they grew rich and miserly — the outcome of 
many such lives. Descoings the son, younger brother 
of Madame Rouget, did not like Issoudun. He went 
to seek his fortune in Paris, where he set up as a grocer 
in the rue Saint-Honore. That step led to his ruin. 
But nothing could have hindered it : a grocer is drawn 
to his business by an attracting force quite equal to the 
repelling force which drives artists away from it. We 
do not sufficiently study the social potentialities which 
make up the various vocations of life. It would be 
interesting to know what determines one man to be a 
stationer rather than a baker ; since, in our day, sons are 
not compelled to follow the calling of their fathers, as 
they were among the Egj^’ptians. In this instance, love 
decided the vocation of Descoings. He said to him- 
self, “I, too, will be a grocer!” and in the same 
breath he said (also to himself) some other things re- 
garding his employer, — a beautiful creature, with whom 
he had fallen desperately in love. Without other help 
than patience and the trifling sum of money his father 
and mother sent him, he married the widow of his 
predecessor, Monsieur Bixiou. 

In 1792 Descoings was thought to be doing an excel- 
lent business. At that time, the old Descoings were 


The Two Brothers, 


3 


still living. The}^ had retired from the wool-trade, 
and were employing their capital in buying up the for- 
feited estates, — another golden fleece! Their son-in- 
law Doctor Rouget, who, about this time, felt prett}^ 
sure that he should soon have to mourn for the death 
of his wife, sent his daughter to Paris to the care of his 
brother-in-law, partly to let her see the capital, but still 
more to carry out an artful scheme of his own. Des- 
coings had no children. Madame Descoings, twelve 
years older than her husband, was in good health, but 
as fat as a thrush after harvest ; and the canny Rouget 
knew enough professionally to be certain that Monsieur 
and Madame Descoings, contrary to the moral of fairy 
tales, would live happy ever after without having an^^ 
children. The pair might therefore become attached 
to Agathe. 

That young girl, the handsomest maiden in Issoudun, 
did not resemble either father or mother. Her birth 
had caused a lasting breach between Doctor Rouget 
and his intimate friend Monsieur Lousteau, a former 
sub-delegate who had lately removed from the town. 
When a family expatriates itself, the natives of a place 
as attractive as Issoudun have a right to inquire into 
the reasons of so surprising a step. It was said by 
certain sharp tongues that Doctor Rouget, a vindictive 
man, had been heard to exclaim that Lousteau should 
die by his hand. Uttered by a physician, this declaration 
had the force of a cannon-ball. When the National As- 
sembly suppressed the sub-delegates, Lousteau and his 
family left Issoudun, and never returned there. After 
their departure Madame Rouget spent most of her 
time with the sister of the late sub-delegate, Madame 
Hochon, who was the godmother of her daughter, and 


4 


The Two Brothers, 


the only person to whom she confided her griefs. The 
little that the good town of Issoudun ever really knew 
of the beautiful Madame Rouget was told by Madame 
Hochon, — though not until after the doctor’s death. 

The first words of Madame Rouget, when informed 
by her husband that he meant to send Agathe to Paris, 
were : “I shall never see my daughter again.” 

“ And she was right,” said the worthy Madame 
Hochon. 

After this, the poor mother grew as yellow as a 
quince, and her appearance did not contradict the 
tongues of those who declared that Doctor Rouget was 
killing her by inches. The behavior of her booby of a 
son must have added to the misery of the poor woman 
so unjustly accused. Not restrained, possibly encour- 
aged by his father, the young fellow, who was in every 
way stupid, paid her neither the attentions nor the re- 
spect which a son owes to a mother. Jean- Jacques 
Rouget was like his father, especially on the latter’s 
worst side ; and the doctor at his best was far from 
satisfactory, either morally or physically. 

The arrival of the charming Agathe Rouget did not 
bring happiness to her uncle Descoings ; for in the 
same week (or rather, we should say decade, for the 
Republic had then been proclaimed) he was imprisoned 
on a hint from Robespierre given to Fouquier-Tinville. 
Descoings, who was imprudent enough to think the 
famine fictitious, had the additional folly, under the im- 
pression that opinions were free, to express that opin- 
ion to several of his male and female customers as he 
served them in the grocery. The citoyenne Duplay, 
wife of a cabinet-maker with whom Robespierre lodged, 
and who looked after the household affairs of that 


• The Two Brothers. 


5 


eminent citizen, patronized, unfortunately, the Des- 
coings establishment. She considered the opinions of 
the grocer insulting to Maximilian the First. Already 
displeased with the manners of Descoings, this illustri- 
ous tricoteuse of the Jacobin club regarded the beauty of 
his wife as a kind of aristocracy. She infused a venom 
of her own into the grocer’s remarks when she re- 
peated them to her good and gentle master, and the 
poor man was speedily arrested on the well-worn charge 
of “ accaparation.” 

No sooner was he put in prison, than his wife set to 
work to obtain his release. But the steps she took were 
so ill-judged that any one hearing her talk to the arbi- 
ters of his fate might have thought that she was in real- 
ity seeking to get rid of him. Madame Descoings knew 
Bridau, one of the secretaries of Roland, then minister 
of the interior, — the right-hand man of all the minis- 
ters who succeeded each other in that office. She put 
Bridau on the war-path to save her grocer. That in- 
corruptible official — one of the virtuous dupes who are 
always admirably disinterested — was careful not to 
corrupt the men on whom the fate of the poor grocer 
depended ; on the contrary, he endeavored to enlighten 
them. Enlighten people in those days ! As well might 
he have begged them to bring back the Bourbons. The 
Girondist minister, who was then contending against 
Robespierre, said to his secretary, “ Why do you med- 
dle in the matter ? ” and all others to whom the worthy 
Bridau appealed made the same atrocious reply : “Why 
do you meddle ? ” Bridau then sagely advised Madame 
Descoings to keep quiet and await events. But instead 
of conciliating Robespierre’s housekeeper, she fretted 
and fumed against that informer, and even complained 


6 


The Two Brothers, 


to a member of the Convention, who, trembling for him- 
self, replied hastily, “ I will speak of it to Robespierre.” 
The handsome petitioner put faith in this promise, which ^ 
the other carefully forgot. A few loaves of sugar, or a 
bottle or two of good liqueur,, given to the citoyenne 
Duplay would have saved Descoings. 

This little mishap proves that in revolutionary times 
it is quite as dangerous to employ honest men as scoun- 
drels ; we should rely on ourselves alone. Descoings 
perished ; but he had the glory of going to the scalfold 
with Andre Chenier. There, no doubt, groceiy and 
poetry embraced for the first time in the flesh ; although 
they have, and ever have had, intimate secret relations. 
The death of Descoings produced far more sensation 
than that of Andre Chenier. It has taken thirt}" 3 ’ears 
to prove to France that she lost more hy the death of 
Chenier than by that of Descoings. 

This act of Robespierre led to one good result : the 
terrified grocers let politics alone until 1830. Des- 
coings’ s shop was not a hundred ^'ards from Robes- 
pierre’s lodging. His successor was scarcely more 
fortunate than himself. C4sar Birotteau, the celebrated 
perfumer of the “ Queen of Roses,” bought the premises ; 
but, as if the scaffold had left some inexplicable conta- 
gion behind it, the inventor of the “ Paste of Sultans” 
and the “ Carminative Balm” came to his ruin in that 
very shop. The solution of the problem here suggested 
belongs to the realm of occult science. 

During the visits which Roland’s secretary paid .to 
the unfortunate Madame Descoings, he was struck with 
the cold, calm, innocent beauty of Agathe Rouget. 
While consoling the widow, who, however, was too 
inconsolable to cany on tlie business of her second 


The Two Brothers. 


7 


deceased husband, he married the charming girl, with the 
consent of her father, who hastened to give his approval 
to the match. Doctor Rouget, delighted to hear that 
matters were going beyond his expectations, — for his 
wife, on the death of her brother, had become sole heir- 
ess of the old Descoings, — rushed to Paris, not so much 
to be present at the wedding as to see that the mari’iage 
contract was drawn to suit him. The ardent and dis- 
interested love of citizen Bridau gave carte blanche to 
the perfidious doctor, who made the most of his son-in- 
law’s blindness, as the following history will ghow. 

Madame Rouget, or, to speak more correctly, the 
doctor, inherited all the property, landed and personal, 
of Monsieur and Madame Descoings the elder, who 
died within two years of each other ; and soon after that, 
Rouget got the better, as we may say, of his wife, for 
she died at the beginning of the year 1799. So he had 
vineyards and he bought farms, he owned iron-works 
and he sold fleeces. His well-beloved son was stupidly 
incapable of doing anything; but the father destined 
him for the state in life of a landed proprietor and al- 
lowed him to grow up in wealth and silliness, certain that 
the lad would know as much as the wisest if he simply 
let himself live and die. After 1799, the cipherers of 
Issoudun put, at the very least, thirty thousand francs* 
income to the doctor’s credit. From the time of his 
wife’s death he led a debauched life, though he regu^ 
lated it, so to speak, and kept it within the closed doors 
of his own house. This man, endowed with “ strength 
of chai’acter,” died in 1805, and God only knows what 
the townspeople of Issoudun said about him then, and 
how many anecdotes they related of his horrible private 
life. Jean- Jacques Rouget, whom his father, recogniz- 


8 


The Two Brothers, 


ing his stupidity, bad latterly treated with severity, re- 
mained a bachelor for certain reasons, the explanation 
of which will form an important part of this history. 
His celibacy was partly his father’s fault, as we shall 
see later. • 

Meantime, it is well to inquire into the results o;^ the 
secret vengeance the doctor took on a daughter wiiom 
he did not recognize as his own, but who, you must un- 
derstand once for all, was legitimately his. Not a per- 
son in Issoudun had noticed one of those capricious 
facts that^ make the whole subject of generation a vast 
abyss in which science flounders. Agathe bore a strong 
likeness to the mother of Doctor Rouget. Just as gout 
is said to skip a generation and pass from grandfather 
to grandson, resemblances not uncommonly follow the 
same course. 

In like manner, the eldest of Agathe’s children, who 
physically resembled his mother, had the moral quali- 
ties of his grandfather. Doctor Rouget. We will leave 
the solution of this problem to the twentieth century, 
with a fine collection of microscopic animalculse; our 
descendants may perhaps write as much nonsense as the 
scientific schools of the nineteenth century have uttered 
on this mysterious and perplexing question. 

Agathe Rouget attracted the admiration of everyone 
by a face destined, like that of Mary, the mother of our 
Lord, to continue ever virgin, even after marriage. Her 
portrait, still to be seen in the atelier of Bridau, shows 
a perfect oval and a clear whiteness of complexion, 
without the faintest tinge of color, in spite of her golden 
hair. More than one artist, looking at the pure brow, 
the discreet, composed mouth, the delicate nose, the 
small ears, the long lashes, and the dark-blue eyes filled 


The Two Brothers, 


9 


with tenderness, — in short, at the whole countenance 
expressive of placidity, — has asked the great artist, 
“ Is that the copy of a Raphael? ” No man ever acted 
under a truer inspiration than the minister’s secretary 
when he married this young girl. Agathe was an em- 
bodiment of the ideal housekeeper brought up in the 
provinces and never parted from her mother. Pious, 
though far from sanctimonious, she had no other educa- 
tion than that given to women bj^ the Church. Judged 
by ordinary standards, she was an accomplished wife, 
yet her ignorance of life paved the way for great mis- 
fortunes. The epitaph on the Roman matron, “ She 
did needlework and kept the house,” gives a faithful pic- 
ture of her simple, pure, and tranquil existence. 

Under the Consulate, Bridau attached himself fanati- 
cally to Napoleon, who placed him at the head of a de- 
partment in the ministry of the interior in 1804, a year 
before the death of Doctor Rouget. With a salary of 
twelve thousand francs and very handsome emoluments, 
Bridau was quite indifferent to the scandalous settlement 
of the propert}" at Issoudun, by which Agathe was de- 
prived of her rightful inheritance. Six months before 
Doctor Rouget’s death he had sold one-half of his prop- 
erty to his son, to whom the other half was bequeathed 
as a gift, and also in accordance with his rights as heir. 
An advance of fifty thousand francs on her inheri- 
tance, made to Agathe at the time of her marriage, 
represented her share of the property of her father and 
and mother. 

Bridau idolized the Emperor, and served him with the 
devotion of a Mohammedan for his prophet ; striving to 
carry out the vast conceptions of the modern demi-god, 
who, finding the whole fabric of France destroyed, went 


10 


The Two Brothers, 


to work to reconstruct everything. The new official 
never showed fatigue, never cried ‘‘Enough.” Projects, 
reports, notes, studies, he accepted all, even the hard- 
est labors, happy in the consciousness of aiding his 
Emperor. He loved him as a man, he adored him as a 
sovereign, and he would never allow the least criticism 
of his acts or his purposes. 

From 1804 to 1808, the Bridaus lived in a handsome 
suite of rooms on the Quai Voltaire, a few steps from 
the ministry of the interior and close to the Tuileries. 
A cook and footman were the only servants of the house- 
hold during this period of Madame Bridau’s grandeur. 
Agathe, early afoot, went to market with her cook. 
While the latter did the rooms, she prepared the break- 
fast. Bridau never went to the ministry before eleven 
o’clock. As long as their union lasted, his wife took 
the same unwearying pleasure in preparing for him an 
exquisite breakfast, the only meal he really enjoyed. 
At all seasons and in all weathers, Agathe watched her 
husband from the window as he walked toward his 
office, and never drew in her head until she had seen 
him turn the corner of the rue du Bac. Then she 
cleared the breakfast-table herself, gave an eye to the 
arrangement of the rooms, dressed for the day, pla3’ed 
with her children and took them to walk, or received 
the visits of friends ; all the while waiting in spirit for 
Bridau’s return. If her husband brought home impor- 
tant business that had to be attended to, she would 
station herself close to the writing-table in his study, 
silent as a statue, knitting while he wrote, sitting up 
as late as he did, and going to bed only a few moments 
before him. Occasionally, the pair went to some thea- 
tre, occupying one of the ministerial boxes. On those 


The Two Brothers. 


11 


days, they dined at a restaurant, and the gay scenes of 
that establishment never ceased to give Madame Bridau 
the same lively pleasure they afford to provincials who 
are new to Paris. Agathe, who was obliged to accept 
the formal dinners sometimes given to the head of a 
department in a ministry, paid due attention to the 
luxurious requirements of the then mode of dress, but 
she took off the rich apparel with delight when she re- 
turned home, and resumed the simple garb of a provin- 
cial. One day in the week, Thursday, Bridau received 
his friends, and he also gave a grand ball, annually, on 
Shrove Tuesday. 

These few words contain the whole history of their 
conjugal life, which had but three events : the births of 
two children, born three years apart, and the death of 
Bridau, who died in 1808, killed b}" overwork at the 
very moment when the Emperor was about to appoint 
him director-general, count, and councillor of state. At 
this period of his reign, Napoleon was particularly ab- 
sorbed in the affairs of the interior; he overwhelmed 
Bridau with work, and finally wrecked the health of 
that dauntless bureaucrat. The Emperor, of whom 
Bridau had never asked a favor, made inquiries into his 
habits and fortune. Finding that this devoted servant 
literally had nothing but his situation, Napoleon recog- 
^nized him as one of the incorruptible natures which 
raised the character of his government and gave moral 
weight to it, and he wished to surprise him by the gift 
of some distinguished reward. But the effort to com- 
plete a certain work, involving immense labor, before 
the departure of the Emperor for Spain caused the death 
of the devoted servant, who was seized with an infiam- 
matory fever. When the Emperor, who remained in 


12 


The Two Brothers. 


Paris for a few days after his return to prepare for the 
campaign of 1809, was told of Bridau’s death he said : 
‘‘ There are men who can never be replaced.” Struck 
by the spectacle of a devotion which could receive none 
of the brilliant recognitions that reward a soldier, the 
Emperor resolved to create an order to requite civil 
services, just as he had alread}" created the Legion of 
honor to reward the military. The impression he re- 
ceived from the death of Bridau led him to plan the 
order of the Reunion. He had not time, however, to 
mature this aristocratic scheme, the recollection of 
which is now so completely effaced that maii}^ of my 
readers may ask what were its insignia : the order was 
worn with a blue ribbon. The Emperor called it the 
Reunion, under the idea of uniting the order of the 
Golden Fleece of Spain with the order of the Golden 
Fleece of Austria. “Providence,” said a Prussian di- 
plomatist, “ took care to frustrate the profanation.” 

After Bridau’s death, the Emperor inquired into the 
circumstances of his widow. Her two sons each re- 
ceived a scholarship in the Imperial Lyceum, and the 
Emperor paid the whole costs of their education from 
his privy purse. He gave Madame Bridau a pension of 
four thousand francs, intending, no doubt, to advance 
the fortune of her sons in future years. 

From the time of her marriage to the death of her 
husband, Agathe had held no communication with Issou- 
dun. She lost her mother just as she was on the point 
of giving birth to her youngest son, and when her 
father, who, as she well knew, loved her little, died, the 
coronation of the Emperor was at hand, and that event 
gave Bridau so much additional work that she was un- 
willing to leave him. Her brother, Jean-Jacques Ronget, 


The Two Brothers. 


13 


had not written to her since she left Issoiidun. Thouoh 

O 

grieved by the tacit repudiation of her famil}^, Agathe 
had come to think seldom of those who never thought 
of her. Once a year she received a letter from her 
godmother, Madame Hochon, to whom she replied with 
commonplaces, paying no heed to the advice which that 
pious and excellent woman gave to her, disguised in 
cautious words. 

Some time before the death of Doctor Rouget, Ma- 
dame Hochon had written to her goddaughter warning 
her that she would get nothing from her father’s estate 
unless she gave a power of attorney to Monsieur IIo- 
chon. Agathe was very reluctant to harass her brother. 
Whether it were that Bridau thought the spoliation of 
his wife in accordance with the laws and customs of 
Berry, or that, highminded as he was, he shared the 
magnanimity of his wife, certain it is that he would not 
listen to Roguin, his notary, who advised him to take 
advantage of his ministerial position to contest the 
deeds by which the father had deprived the daughter of 
her legitimate inheritance. Husband and wife thus 
tacitl}^ sanctioned what was done at Issoudun. Never- 
theless, Roguin had forced Bridau to reflect upon the 
future interests of his wife which were thus compro- 
mised. He saw that if he died before her, Agathe would 
be left without property, and this led him to look into 
his own affairs. He found that between 1793 and 1805 
his wife and he had been obliged to use nearly thirty 
thousand of the flfty thousand francs in cash which old 
Rouget had given to his daughter at the time of her 
marriage. He at once invested the remaining twenty 
thousand in the public funds, then quoted at forty, and 
from this source Agathe received about two thousand 


14 


The Two Brothers. 


francs a year. As a widow, Madame Bridau could live 
suitably on an income of six thousand francs. With 
provincial good sense, she thought of changing her resi- 
dence, dismissing the footman, and keeping no servant 
except a cook ; but her intimate friend, Madame Des- 
coings, who insisted on being considered her aunt, sold 
her own establishment and came to live with Agathe, 
turning the study of the late Bridau into her bedroom. 

The two widows clubbed their revenues, and so were 
in possession of a joint income of twelve thousand francs 
a 3 ^ear. This seems a very simple and natural proceed- 
ing. But nothing in life is more deserving of attention 
tlian the things that are called natural ; we are on our 
guard against the unnatural and extraordinar 3 \ For 
this reason, 3 "ou will find men of experience — lawyers, 
judges, doctors, and priests — attaching immense im- 
portance to simple matters ; and the^^ are often thought 
over-scrupulous. But the serpent amid fiowers is one 
of the finest mj^ths that antiquity has bequeathed for the 
guidance of our lives. How often we hear fools, trying 
to excuse themselves in their own ej^es or in the eyes of 
others, exclaiming, “ It was all so natural that any 
one would have been taken in.” 

In 1809, Madame Descoings, who never told her age, 
was sixtj^-five. In her he^^day she had been popularly 
called a beauty, and was now one of those rare women 
whom time respects. She owed to her excellent con- 
stitution the privilege of preserving her good looks, 
which, however, would not bear close examination. 
She was of medium height, plump, and fresh, with fine 
shoulders and a rather rosy complexion. Her blond 
hair, bordering on chestnut, showed, in spite of her 
husband’s catastrophe, not a tinge of gra 3 \ She loved 


The Two Brothers. 


15 


good cheer, and liked to concoct niccdittle made dishes ; 
yet, fond as she was of eating, she also adored the the- 
atre and cherished a vice which she wrapped in impene- 
trable mystery — she bought into lotteries. Can that 
be the abyss of which m3'thology warns us under the 
fable of the Danaides and their cask? Madame Des- 
coings, like other women who are luckj^ enough to keep 
young for many years, spent rather too much upon her 
dress ; but aside from these trifling defects she was 
tlie pleasantest of women to live with. Of every one’s 
opinion, never opposing anybody, her kindly and com- 
municative gayety gave pleasure to all. She had, more- 
over, a Parisian quality which charmed the retired clerks 
and elderly merchants of her circle, — she could take 
and give a jest. If she did not marry a third time it 
was no doubt the fault of the times. During the wars 
of the Empire, marrying men found rich and handsome 
girls too easily to trouble themselves about women of 
sixty. 

Madame Descoings, always anxious to cheer Madame 
Bridau, often took the latter to the theatre, or to drive ; 
prepared excellent little dinners for her delectation, and 
even tried to marry her to her own son by her first hus- 
band, Bixiou. Alas ! to do this, she was forced to 
reveal to Agathe a terrible secret, carefully kept by h^r, 
b}^ her late husband, and by her notar}^. The* young and 
beautiful Madame Descoings, who passed for thirtj^-six 
years old, had a son who was thirty-five, named Bixiou, 
already a widower, a major in the Twenty-fourth Infan- 
try, who subsequently perished at Lutzen, leaving be- 
hind him an only son. Madame Descoings, who only 
saw her grandson secretly’, gave out that he was the son 
of the first wife of her first husband. The revelation 


16 


The Two Brothers. 


was partly a prudential act ; for this grandson was being 
educated with Madame Bridau’s sons at the Imperial 
L3’ceum, where he had a half-scholarship. The lad, 
who was clever and shrewd at school, soon after made 
himself a great reputation as draughtsman and designer, 
and also as a wit. 

Agathe, who lived onl}" for her children, declined to 
re-marr3", as much from good sense as from fideliW to 
her husband. But it is easier for a woman to be a good 
wife than to be a good mother. A widow has two tasks 
before her, whose duties clash : she is a mother, and yet 
she must exercise parental authoritj^ Few women are 
firm enough to understand and practise this double duty. 
Thus it happened that Agathe, notwithstanding her many 
virtues, was the innocent cause of great unhappiness. 
In the first place, through her lack of intelligence and 
the blind confidence to which such noble natures are 
prone, Agathe fell a victim to Madame Descoings, who 
brought a terrible misfortune on the famih*. That 
worthy soul was nursing up a combination of three 
numbers called a “ trey ’’ in a lottery, and lotteries give 
no credit to their customers. As manager of the joint 
household, she was able to pay up her stakes with the 
mone^r intended for their current expenses, and she 
went deeper and deeper into debt, with the hope of ulti- 
mately enriching her grandson Bixiou, her dear Agathe, 
and the little Bridaus. When the debts amounted to 
ten thousand francs, she increased her stakes, trusting 
that her favorite trey, which had not turned up in nine 
3^ears, would come at last, and fill to overflowing the 
abysmal deficit. 

From that moment the debt rolled up rapidly. When 
it reached twenty thousand francs, Madame Descoings 


The Two Brothers. 


17 


lost her head, still failing to win the trey. She tried 
to mortgage her own property to repay her niece, but 
Roguin, who was her notary, showed her the impossi- 
bilit}" of carrying out that honorable intention. The late 
Doctor Rouget had laid hold of the property of his 
brother-in-law after the grocer’s execution, and had, as 
it were, disinherited Madame Descoings by securing to 
her a life-interest on the property of his own son, Jean- 
Jacques Rouget. No money-lender would think of 
advancing twenty thousand francs to a woman sixty-six 
years of age, on an annuity of about four thousand, at 
a period when ten per cent could easily be got for an 
investment. So one morning Madame Descoings fell 
at the feet of her niece, and with sobs confessed the 
state of things. Madame Bridau did not reproach her ; 
she sent away the footman and cook, sold all but the 
bare necessaries of her furniture, sold also three fourths 
of her government funds, paid off the debts, and bade 
farewell to her appartement. 


2 


18 


The Two Brothers, 


II. 

One of the worst corners in all Paris is undoubtedly 
that part of the rue Mazarin which lies between the rue 
Guenegard and its junction with the rue de Seine, be- 
hind the palace of the Institute. The high gray walls 
of the college and of the library which Cardinal Mazarin 
presented to the city of Paris, and which the French 
Academy was in after-days to inhabit, cast chill shad- 
ows over this angle of the street, where the sun seldom 
shines, and the north wind blows. The poor ruined 
widow came to live on the third floor of a house stand- 
ing at this damp, dark, cold corner. Opposite, rose the 
Institute buildings, in which were the dens of ferocious 
animals known to the bourgeoisie under the name of ar- 
tist, — under that of tyro, or rapin^ in the studios. Into 
these dens they enter rapins^ but they may come forth 
prix de Rome. The transformation does not take place 
without extraordinary uproar and disturbance at the 
time of year when the examinations are going on, and 
the competitors are shut up in their cells. To win a prize, 
they were obliged, within a given time, to make, if a 
sculptor, a clay model; if a painter, a picture such as 
may be seen at the 6cole des Beaux- Arts ; if a musi- 
cian, a cantata ; if an architect, the plans for a public 
building. At the time when we are penning the words, 
this menagerie has been removed from these cold and 
cheerless buildings, and taken to the elegant Palais des 
Beaux- Arts, which stands near by. 


The Two Brothers. 


19 


From the windows of Madame Bridau’s new abode, 
a glance could penetrate the depths of those melan- 
choly barred cages. To the north, the view was shut 
in b}^ the dome of the Institute ; looking up the street, 
the only distraction to the eye was a file of hackney- 
coaches, which stood at the upper end of the rue Maz- 
arin. After a while, the widow put boxes of earth in 
front of her windows, and cultivated those aerial gar- 
dens that police regulations forbid, though their vegeta- 
ble products purify the atmosphere. The house, which 
backed up against another fronting on the rue de Seine, 
was necessarity shallow, and the staircase wound round 
upon itself. The third floor was the last. Three win- 
dows to three rooms, namely, a dining-room, a small 
salon, and a chamber on one side of the landing ; on 
the other, a little kitchen, and two single rooms ; above, 
an immense garret without partitions. Madame Bridau 
chose this lodging for three reasons : economy, for it 
cost only four hundred francs a year, so that she took 
a lease of it for nine years; proximity to her sons* 
school, the Imperial Lyceum being at a short distance ; 
thirdly, because it was in the quarter to which she 
was used. 

The inside of the appartement was in keeping with the 
general look of the house. The dining-room, hung 
with a yellow paper covered with little green flowers, and 
floored with tiles that were not glazed, contained noth- 
ing that was not strictly necessary, — namely, a table, 
two sideboards, and six chairs, brought from the other 
appartement. The salon was adorned with an Aubusson 
carpet given to Bridau when the ministry of the interior 
was refurnished. To the furniture of this room the 
widow added one of those common mahogany sofas 


20 


The Two Brothers. 


with Egyptian heads that Jacob Desmalter manufactured 
the gross in 1806, covering them with a silken green 
stuff bearing a design of white geometric circles. Above 
this piece of furniture hung a portrait of Bridau, done 
in pastel b}^ the hand of an amateur, w^hich at once at- 
tracted the eye. Though art might have something to 
say against it, no one could fail to recognize the firm- 
ness of the noble and obscure citizen upon that brow. 
The serenity of the eyes, gentle, yet proud, was well 
given ; the sagacious mind, to which the prudent lips 
bore testimony, the frank smile, the atmosphere of the 
man of whom the Emperor had said, “ Justum et tena- 
cem^^ had all been caught, if not with talent, at least 
with fidelity. Studying that face, an observer could 
see that the man had done his duty. His countenance 
bore signs of the incorruptibility which we attribute to 
several men who served the Republic. On the opposite 
wall, over a card-table, flashed a picture of the Emperor 
in brilliant colors, done by Vernet ; Napoleon was rid- 
ing rapidly, attended by his escort. 

Agathe had bestowed upon herself two large bird- 
cages ; one fllled with canaries, the other with Java 
sparrows. She had given herself up to this juvenile 
fancy since the loss of her husband, irreparable to her, 
as, in fact, it was to many others. By the end of three 
months, her widowed chamber had become what it was 
destined to remain until the appointed da}^ when she 
left it forever, — a litter of confusion which words are 
powerless to describe. Cats were domiciled on the 
sofas. The canaries, occasionally let loose, left their 
commas on the furniture. The poor dear woman scat- 
tered little heaps of millet and bits of chickweed about 
the room, and put tidbits for the cats in broken saucers. 


The Two Brothers, 


21 '- 


Garments lay everywhere. The room breathed of the 
provinces and of constancy. Everything that once be- 
longed to Bridau was scrupulously preserved. Even 
the implements in his desk received the care which the 
widow of a paladin may have bestowed upon her hus- 
band’s armor. One slight detail will serve to bring the 
tender devotion of this woman before the reader’s mind. 
She had wrapped up a pen and sealed the package, on 
which she wrote these words, “ Last pen used by my 
dear husband.” The cup from which he drank his last 
draught was on the fireplace ; caps and false hair were 
tossed, at a later period, over the glass globes which 
covered these precious relics. After Bridau’s death 
not a trace of coquetry, not even a woman’s ordinary 
care of her person, was left in the young widow of 
thirt3’-five. Parted from the only man she had known, 
esteemed, and loved, from one who never had caused 
her the slightest unhappiness, she was no longer con- 
scious of her womanhood ; all things were as nothing 
to her ; she no longer even thought of her dress. 
Nothing was ever more simply done or more complete 
than this laying down of conjugal happiness and per- 
sonal charm. Some human beings obtain through love 
the power of transferring their self — their I — to the 
being of another ; and when death takes that other, no 
life of their own is possible for them. 

Agathe, who now lived only for her children, was 
infinitely sad at the thought of the privations this 
financial ruin would bring upon them. From the time 
of her removal to the rue Mazarin a shade of mel- 
ancholy came upon her face, which made it very 
touching. She hoped a little in the Emperor; but 
the Emperor at that time could do no more than he 


22 


The Two Brothers. 


was already doing ; he was giving three hundred francs 
a year to each child from his privy purse, besides the 
scholarships. 

As for the brilliant Descoings, she occupied an ap- 
partement on the second floor similar to that of her niece 
above her. She had made Madame Bridau an assign- 
ment of three thousand francs out of her annuity. 
Roguin, the notary, attended to this in Madame Bridau’s 
interest ; but it would take seven 3’ears of such slow 
repa3"ment to make good the loss. The Descoings, thus 
reduced to an income of twelve hundred francs, lived 
with her niece in a small way. These excellent but 
timid creatures emplo3"ed a worn an-of-all- work for the 
morning hours onty. Madame Descoings, who liked to 
cook, prepared the dinner. In the evenings a few old 
friends, persons emplo3"ed at the ministiy who owed 
their places to Bridau, came for a game of cards witli 
the two widows. Madame Descoings still cherished her 
trey, which she declared was obstinate about turning up. 
She expected, by one grand stroke of luck, to repa3^ 
the enforced loan she had made upon her niece. She 
was fonder of the little Bridaus than she was of her 
grandson Bixiou, — partly from a sense of the wrong she 
had done them, partly because she felt the kindness of 
her niece, who, under her worst deprivations, never 
uttered a word of reproach. So Philippe and Joseph 
were cossetted, and the old gambler in the Imperial 
Lotter3- of France (like others who have a vice or a 
weakness to atone for) cooked them nice little dinners 
with plent3^ of sweets. Later on, Philippe and Joseph 
could extract from her pocket, with the utmost facil- 
ity, small sums of mone3^, which the 3’ounger used for 
pencils, paper, charcoal and prints, the elder to buy 


The Two Brothers. 


23 


tennis-shoes, marbles, twine, and pocket-knives. Ma- 
dame Descoings’s passion forced her to be content with 
fifty francs a month for her domestic expenses, so as 
to gamble with the rest. 

On the other hand, Madame Bridau, motherly love, 
kept her expenses down to the same sum. By way 
of penance for her former over-confidence, she heroi- 
cally cut off her own little enjoyments. As with 
other timid souls of limited intelligence, one shock 
to her feelings rousing her distrust led her to exag- 
gerate a defect in her character until it assumed the 
consistency of a virtue. The Emperor, she said to 
herself, might forget them ; he might die in battle ; 
her pension, at any rate, ceased with her life. She 
shuddered at the risk her children ran of being left 
alone in the world without means. Quite incapable of 
understanding Roguin when he explained to her that in 
seven years Madame Descoings’s assignment would 
replace the money she had sold out of the Funds, she 
persisted in trusting neither the notary nor her aunt, 
nor even the government ; she believed in nothing but 
herself and the privations she was practising. By lay- 
ing aside three thousand francs every year from her 
pension, she would have thirty thousand francs at the 
end of ten years ; which would give fifteen hundred a 
year to her children. At thirtj^-six, she might expect 
to live twenty years longer; and if she kept to the 
same system of economy she might leave to each child 
enough for the bare necessaries of life. 

Thus the two widows passed from hollow opulence 
to voluntary poverty, — one under the pressure of a 
vice, the other through the promptings of the purest 
virtue. None of these petty details are useless in 


I 


24 The Two Brothers, 

teaching the lesson which ought to be learned from this 
present history, drawn as it is from the most common- 
place interests of life, but whose bearings are, it ma}' 
be, only the more widespread. The view from the 
windows into the student dens ; the tumult of the 
rapins below ; the necessity of looking up at the sky 
to escape the miserable sights of the damp angle of the 
street ; the presence of that portrait, full of soul and 
grandeur despite the workmanship of an amateur 
painter ; the sight of the rich colors, now old and har- 
monious, in that calm and placid home ; the preference 
of the mother for her eldest child ; her opposition to 
the tastes of the 5 ^ounger ; in short, the whole body of 
facts and circumstances which make the preamble of 
this history are perhaps the generating causes to which 
we owe Joseph Bridau, one of the greatest painters of 
the modern French school of art. 

Philippe, the elder of the two sons, was strikingly 
like his mother. Though a blond lad, with blue eyes, 
he had the daring look which is readily taken for 
intrepidity and courage. Old Claparon, who entered 
the ministry of the interior at the same time as Bridau, 
and was one of the faithful friends who played whist 
every night with the two widows, used to say of Philippe 
two or three times a month, giving him a tap on the 
cheek, “ Here ’s a young rascal who ’ll stand to his 
guns ! ” The bo}', thus stimulated, naturally and out of 
bravado, assumed a resolute manner. That turn once 
given to his character, he became verj^ adroit at all 
bodil}^ exercises ; his fights at the L 3 ^ceum taught him 
the endurance and contempt for pain which lays the 
foundation of military valor. He also acquired, very 
naturally, a distaste for stud}^ ; public education being 


The Two Brothers. 


25 


unable to solve the difficult problem of developing pari 
passu the body and the mind. 

Agathe believed that the purely physical resemblance 
which Philippe bore to her carried with it a moral 
likeness ; and she confidently expected him to show at 
a future day her own delicacy of feeling, heightened 
by the vigor of manhood. Philippe was fifteen years 
old when his mother moved into the melancholy ap- 
partement in the rue Mazarin ; and the winning ways 
of a lad of that age went far to confirm the maternal 
beliefs. Joseph, three years younger, was like his 
father, but only on the defective side. In the first 
place, his thick black hair was always in disorder, no 
matter what pains were taken with it ; while Philippe’s, 
notwithstanding his vivacity, was invariably neat. 
Then, by some mysterious fatality, Joseph could not 
keep his clothes clean ; dress him in new clothes, and 
he immediately made them look like old ones. The 
elder, on the other hand, took care of his things out of 
mere vanity. Unconsciously, the mother acquired a 
habit of scolding Joseph and holding up his brother 
as an example to him. Agathe did not treat the 
two children alike ; when she went to fetch them 
from school, the thought in her mind as to Joseph 
always was, “ What sort of state shall I find him in? ” 
These trifies drove her heart into the gulf of maternal 
preference. 

No one among the very ordinary persons who made 
the society of the two widows — neither old Du Bruel 
nor old Claparon, nor Desroches the father, nor even 
the Abbe Loraux, Agathe’s confessor — noticed Joseph’s 
faculty for observation. Absorbed in the line X)f his 
own tastes, the future colorist paid no attention to 


26 


The Two Brothers. 


anything that concerned himself. During his child- 
hood this disposition was so like torpor that his father 
grew uneasy about him. The remarkable size of the 
head and the width of the brow roused a fear that the 
child might be liable to water on the brain. His dis- 
tressful face, whose originality was thought ugliness by 
those who had no eye for the moral value of a coun- 
tenance, wore rather a sullen expression during his 
childhood. The features, which developed later in life, 
were pinched, and the close attention the child paid to 
what went on about him still further contracted them. 
Philippe flattered his mother’s vanity, but Joseph won 
no compliments. Philippe sparkled with the clever 
sayings and lively answers that lead parents to believe 
their boys will turn out remarkable men ; Joseph was 
taciturn, and a dreamer. The mother hoped great 
things of Philippe, and expected nothing of Joseph. 

Joseph’s predilection for art was developed by a very 
commonplace incident. During the Easter holidays of 
1812, as he was coming home from a walk in the Tuil- 
eries with his brother and Madame Descoings, he saw 
a pupil drawing a caricature of some professor on the 
wall of the Institute, and stopped short with admiration 
at the charcoal sketch, which was full of satire. The 
next day the child stood at the window watching the 
pupils as they entered the building by the door on 
the rue Mazarin ; then he ran down stairs and slipped 
furtively into the long courtyard of the Institute, full 
of statues, busts, half-flnished marbles, plasters, and 
baked claj^s ; at all of which he gazed feverishly, for his 
instinct was awakened, and his vocation stirred within 
him. He entered a room on the ground-floor, the door 
of which was half open ; there he saw a dozen young 


The Two Brothers, 


27 


men drawing from a statue, who at once began to make 
fun of him. 

“Hi! little one,” cried the first to see him, taking 
the crumbs of his bread and scattering them at the 
child. 

“ Whose child is he? ” 

“ Goodness, how ugly ! ” 

For a quarter of an hour Joseph stood still and bore 
the brunt of much teasing in the atelier of the great 
sculptor, Chaudet. But after laughing at him for a 
time, the pupils were struck with his persistency and 
with the expression of his face. They asked him what 
he wanted. Joseph answered that he wished to know 
how to draw ; thereupon they all encouraged him. Won 
by such friendliness, the child told them he was Ma- 
dame Bridau’s son. 

“ Oh ! if you are Madame Bridau’s son,” they cried, 
from all parts of the room, “you will certainly be a 
great man. Long live the son of Madame Bridau ! Is 
your mother pretty? If you are sample of her, she 
must be stylish ! ” 

“Ha! you want to be an artist?” said the eldest 
pupil, coming up to Joseph, “but don’t you know that 
that requires pluck ; you ’ll have to bear all sorts of 
trials, — yes, trials, — enough to break your legs and 
arms and soul and bod3% All the fellows 3^ou see here 
have gone through regular ordeals. That one, for in- 
stance, he went seven dajrs without eating! Let me 
see, now, if ^’'ou can be an artist.” 

He took one of the child’s arms and stretched it 
straight up in the air ; then he placed the other arm as 
if Joseph were in the act of delivering a blow with his 
fist. 


28 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Now that *s what we call the telegraph trial,” 
said the pupil. “If you can stand like that, without 
lowering or changing the position of 3 "our arms for a 
quarter of an hour, then 3 ^ou ’ll have proved yourself a 
plucky one.” 

“Courage, little one, courage!” cried all the rest. 
“ You must suffer if j^ou want to be an artist.” 

Joseph, with the good faith of his thirteen j^ears, 
stood motionless for five minutes, all the pupils gazing 
solemnly at him. 

“ There ! you are moving,” cried one. 

“ Steady, steady, confound 3 ^ou ! ” cried another. 

“The Emperor Napoleon stood a whole month as 
you see him there,” said a third, pointing to the fine 
statue by Chaudet, which was in the room. 

That statue, which represents the Emperor standing 
with the imperial sceptre in his hand, was torn down in 
1814 from the column it surmounted so well. 

At the end of ten minutes the sweat stood in drops 
on Joseph’s forehead. At that moment a bald-headed 
little man, pale and sickly in appearance, entered the 
atelier, where respectful silence reigned at once. 

“What are you about, j^ou urchins?” he exclaimed, 
as he looked at the youthful martyr. 

“ That is a good little fellow, who is posing,” said the 
tall pupil who had placed Joseph. 

“Are not you ashamed to torture a poor child in 
that way?” said Chaudet, lowering Joseph’s arms. 
“ How long have you been standing there?” he asked 
the boy, giving him a friendly little pat on the cheek. 

“ A quarter of an hour.” 

“ What brought you here? ” 

“ I want to be an artist.” 


The Two Brothers. 


29 


“ Where do you belong? where do you come from? ” 

“From mamma’s house.” 

“ Oh ! mamma ! ” cried the pupils. 

“ Silence at the easels ! ” cried Chaudet. “ Who is 
your mamma ? ” 

“She is Madame Bridau. My papa, who is dead, 
was a friend of the Emperor ; and if you wiU teach me 
to draw, the Emj^eror will pay all you ask for it.” 

“ His father was head of a department at the ministry 
of the interior,” exclaimed Chaudet, struck by a recol- 
lection. “ So you want to be an artist, at your age? ” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Well, come here just as much as you like; we’ll 
amuse you. Give him a board, and paper, and chalks, 
and let him alone. You are to know, you young 
scamps, that his father did me a service. Here, Corde- 
k-puits, go and get some cakes and sugar-plums,” he 
said to the pupil who had tortured Joseph, giving him 
some small change. “ We ’ll see if you are to be artist 
by the way you gobble up the dainties,” added the sculp- 
tor, chucking Joseph under the chin. 

Then he went round examining the pupils’ work, fol- 
lowed by the child, who looked and listened, and tried 
to understand him. The sweets were brought, Chaudet 
himself, the child, and the whole studio all had their 
teeth in them ; and Joseph was petted quite as much as 
he had been teased. The whole scene, in which the 
rough play and real heart of artists were revealed, and 
which the boy instinctively understood, made a great 
impression upon his mind. The apparition of the sculp- 
tor, — for whom the Emperor’s protection opened a 
way to future glory, closed soon after by his premature 
death, — was like a vision to little Joseph. The child 


30 


The Two Brothers. 


said nothing to his mother about this adventure, but he 
spent two hours every Sunday and every Thursday in 
Chaudet’s atelier. From that time forth, Madame Des- 
coings, who humored the fancies of the two cherubim, 
kept Joseph supplied with pencils and red chalks, prints 
and drawing-paper. At school, the future colorist 
sketched his masters, drew his comrades, charcoaled 
the dormitories, and showed surprising assiduity in the 
drawing-class. Lemire, the drawing-master, struck not 
only with the lad’s inclination but also with his actual 
progress, came to tell Madame Bridau of her son’s fac- 
ulty. Agathe, like a true provincial, who knows as little 
of art as she knows much of housekeeping, was terrified. 
When Lemire left her, she burst into tears. 

“ Ah ! ” she cried, when Madame Descoings went to 
ask what was the matter. “ What is to become of me ! 
Joseph, whom I meant to make a government clerk, 
whose career was all marked out for him at the ministry 
of the interior, where, protected by his father’s memorj^, 
he might have risen to be chief of a division before he 
was twenty-five, he, my boy, he wants to be a painter, 
— a vagabond ! I always knew that child would give 
me nothing but trouble.” 

Madame Descoings confessed that for several months 
past she had encouraged Joseph’s passion, aiding and 
abetting his Sunday and Thursday visits to the Insti- 
tute. At the Salon, to which she had taken him, the 
little fellow had shown an interest in the pictures, which 
was, she declared, nothing short of miraculous. 

“ If he understands painting at thirteen, my dear,” 
she said, “your Joseph will be a man of genius.” 

“ Yes ; and see what genius did for his father, — 
killed him with overwork at forty ! ” 


The Two Brothers, 


31 


At the close of autumn, just as Joseph was entering 
his fourteenth year, Agathe, contrary to Madame Des- 
coings’s entreaties, went to see Chaudet, and requested 
that he would cease to debauch her son. She found the 
sculptor in a blue smock, modelling his last statue ; he 
received the widow of the man who formerly had served 
him at a critical moment, rather roughly ; but, already at 
death’s door, he was struggling with passionate ardor 
to do in a few hours work he could hardly have accom- 
plished in several months. As Madame Bridau entered, 
he had just found an effect long sought for, and was 
handling his tools and clay with spasmodic jerks and 
movements that seemed to the ignorant Agathe like 
those of a maniac. At any other time Chaudet would 
have laughed ; but now, as he heard the mother bewail- 
ing the destin}^ he had opened to her child, abusing art, 
and insisting that Joseph should no longer be allowed to 
enter the atelier, he burst into a holy wrath. 

“ I was under obligations to your deceased husband ; 
I wished to help his son, to watch his first steps in the 
noblest of all careers,” he cried. “ Yes, madame, learn, 
if you do not know it, that a great artist is a king, and 
more than a king ; he is happier, he is independent, he 
lives as he likes, he reigns in the world of fancy. Your 
son has a glorious future before him. Faculties like his 
are rare ; they are only disclosed at his age in such beings 
as the Giottos, Raphaels, Titians, Rubens, Murillos, — 
for, in my opinion, he will make a better painter than 
sculptor. God of heaven ! if I had such a son, I should 
be as happy as the Emperor is to have given himself 
the King of Rome. Well, you are mistress of your 
child’s fate. Go your own way, madame ; make him a 
fool, a miserable quill-driver, tie him to a desk, and 


32 


The Two Brothers, 


you Ve murdered him ! But I hope, in spite of all your 
efforts, that he will stay an artist. A true vocation is 
stronger than all the obstacles that can be opposed to it. 
Vocation ! why the very word means a call ; ay, the 
election of God himself! You will make your child 
unhappy, that’s all.” He flung the clay he no longer 
needed violently into a tub, and said to his model, 
“ That will do for to-da3^” 

Agathe raised her eyes and saw, in a corner of the 
atelier where her glance had not before penetrated, a 
nude woman sitting on a stool, the sight of whom drove 
her away horrified. 

“ You are not to have the little Bridau here any more,” 
said Chaudet to his pupils, “ it annoys his mother.” 

“ Eugh ! ” they all cried, as Agathe closed the door. 

No sooner did the students of sculpture and painting 
find out that Madame Bridau did not wish her son to 
be an artist, than their whole happiness centred on get- 
ting Joseph among them. In spite of a promise not to 
go to the Institute which his mother exacted from him, 
the child often slipped into Regnauld the painter’s studio, 
where he was encouraged to daub canvas. When the 
widow complained that the bargain was not kept, Chau- 
det’s pupils assured her that Regnauld was not Chaudet, 
and they had n’t the bringing up of her son, with other 
impertinences ; and the atrocious young scamps com- 
posed a song with a hundred and thirty-seven couplets 
on Madame Bridau. 

On the evening of that sad day Agathe refused to play 
at cards, and sat on her sofa plunged in such grief that 
the tears stood in her handsome eyes. 

“ What is the matter, Madame Bridau?” asked old 
Claparon. 


The Two Brothers^ 


33 


“ She thinks her boy will have to beg his bread be- 
cause he has got the bump of painting,” said Madame 
Descoings ; “ but, for my part, I 'm not the least uneasy 
about the future of my step-son, little Bixiou, who has 
a passion for drawing. Men are born to get on.” 

“ You are right,” said the hard and severe Desroches, 
who, in spite of his talents, had never himself got on to 
the position of assistant-head of a department. “ Hap- 
pily I have only one son ; otherwise, with my eighteen 
hundred francs a year, and a wife who makes barely 
twelve hundred out of her stamped-paper office, I don't 
know what would become of me. I have just placed my 
boy as under-clerk to a lawyer ; he gets twenty-five francs 
a month and his breakfast. I give him as much more, 
and he dines and sleeps at home. That ’s all he gets ; 
he must manage for himself, but he ’ll make his way. I 
keep the fellow harder at work than if he were at school, 
and some daj^ he will be a barrister. "When I give him 
money to go to the theatre, he is as happy as a king 
and kisses me. Oh, I keep a tight hand on him, and he 
renders me an account of all he spends. You are too 
good to your children, Madame Bridau ; if your son 
wants to go through hardships and privations, let him ; 
they ’ll make a man of him.” 

“ As for m}^ boy,” said Du Bruel, a former chief of a 
division, who had just retired on a pension, “ he is only 
sixteen ; his mother dotes on him ; but I should n’t lis- 
ten to his choosing a profession at his age, — a mere 
fancy, a notion that may pass off. In my opinion, boys 
should be guided and controlled.” 

“ Ah, monsieur ! you are rich, you are a man, and you 
have but one son,” said Agathe. 

“Faith!” said Claparon, “children do tyrannize 
3 


34 


The Two Brothers, 


over us — over our hearts, I mean. Mine makes me 
furious ; he has nearly ruined me, and now I won’t 
have anything to do with him — it ’s a sort of inde- 
pendence. Well, he is the happier for it, and so am I. 
That fellow was partly the cause of his mother’s death. 
He chose to be a commercial traveller ; and the trade 
just suited him, for he was no sooner in the house than 
he wanted to be out of it; he couldn’t keep in one 
place, and he would n’t learn anything. All I ask of 
God is that I may die before he dishonors m}^ name. 
Those who have no children lose many pleasures, but 
they escape great sufferings.” 

“And these men are fathers!” thought Agathe, 
weeping anew. 

“ What I am trying to show 3^ou, my dear Madame 
Bridau, is that you had better let your bo}^ be a 
painter; if not, you will only waste your time.” 

“ If 3?^ou were able to coerce him,” said the sour Des- 
roches, “ I should advise 3^ou to oppose his tastes ; but 
weak as I see 3^ou are, 3^ou had better let him daub if 
he likes.” 

“ Console yourself, Agathe,” said Madame Descoings, 
“ Joseph will turn out a great man.” 

After this discussion, which was like all discussions, the 
widow’s friends united in giving her one and the same ad- 
vice ; which advice did not in the least relieve her anxie- 
ties. They advised her to let Joseph follow his bent. 

“ If he does n’t turn out a genius,” said Du Bruel, 
who always tried to please Agathe, “ 3"Ou can then get 
him into some government office.” 

When Madame Descoings accompanied the old clerks 
to the door she assured them, at the head of the stairs, 
that the3^ were “ Grecian sages.” 


The Two Brothers. 35 

“ Madame Bridau ought to be glad her son is willing 
to do anything,” said Claparon. 

“Besides,” said Desroches, “if God preserv’^es the 
Emperor, Joseph will always be looked after. Why 
should she wony?” 

“ She is timid about everything that concerns her 
children,” answered Madame Descoings. “Well, my 
good girl,” she said, returning to Agathe, “you see 
they are unanimous ; why are you still crying ? ” 

“If it was Philippe, I should have no anxiety. But 
you don’t know what goes on in that atelier ; they have 
naked women ! ” 

“I hope they keep good fires,^’ said Madame Des- 
coings. 

A few days after this, the disasters of the retreat from 
Moscow became known. Napoleon returned to Paris 
to organize fresh troops, and to ask further sacrifices 
from the country. The poor mother was then plunged 
into very different anxieties. Philippe, who was tired 
of school, wanted to serve under the Emperor ; he saw 
a review at the Tuileries, — the last Napoleon ever held, 
— and he became infatuated with the idea of a soldier’s 
life. In those days military splendor, the show of uni- 
forms,, the authority of epaulets, offered irresistible se- 
ductions to a certain style of youth. Philippe thought 
he had the same vocation for the army that his brother 
Joseph showed for art. Without his mother’s knowl- 
edge, he wrote a petition to the Emperor, which read as 
follows : — 

— I am the son of your Bridau ; eighteen years of 
age, five feet six inches; I have good legs, a good constitu- 
tion, and T wish to be one of your soldiers. I ask you to let 
me enter the array, etc. 


36 


The Two Brothers, 


Within twenty-four hours, the Emperor had sent 
Philippe to the Imperial Lyceum at Saint-CjT, and six 
months later, in November, 1813, he appointed him 
sub-lieutenant in a regiment of cavalry. Philippe spent 
the greater part of that winter in cantonments, but as 
soon as he knew how to ride a horse he was dispatched 
to the front, and went eagerly. During the campaign 
in France he was made a lieutenant, after an affair at 
the outposts where his bravery had saved his colonel’s 
life. The Emperor named him captain at the battle of 
La Fere-Champenoise, and took him on his staff. In- 
spired by such promotion, Philippe won the cross at 
Montereau. He witnessed Napoleon’s farewell at Fon- 
tainebleau, raved at the sight, and refused to serve the 
Bourbons. When he returned to his mother, in Jul}", 
1814, he found her ruined. 

Joseph’s scholarship was withdrawn after the holi- 
days, and Madame Bridau, whose pension came from 
the Emperor’s privy purse, vainly entreated that it might 
be inscribed on the rolls of the ministry of the interior. 
Joseph, more of a painter than ever, was delighted 
with the turn of events, and entreated his mother to 
let him go to Monsieur Regnauld, promising to earn 
his own living. He declared he was quite sufficiently 
advanced in the second class to get on without rhet- 
oric. Philippe, a captain at nineteen and decorated, 
who had, moreover, served the Emperor as aide-de- 
camp in two battles, flattered the mother’s vanity im- 
mensely. Coarse, blustering, and without real merit 
beyond the vulgar bravery of a cavalry officer, he was 
to her mind a man of genius ; whereas Joseph, puny 
and sicklj^, with unkempt hair and absent mind, seek- 
ing peace, loving quiet, and dreaming of an artist’s 


The Two Brothers. 


37 


glory, would only bring her, she thought, worries and 
anxieties. 

The winter of 1814-1815 was a lucky one for Joseph. 
Secretly encouraged by Madame Descoings and Bixiou, 
a pupil of Gros, he went to work in the celebrated ate- 
lier of that painter, whence a vast variety of talent 
issued in its day, and there he formed the closest inti- 
macy with Schinner. The return from Elba came ; Cap- 
tain Bridau joined the Emperor at Lyons, accompanied 
him to the Tuileries, and was appointed to the com- 
mand of a squadron in the dragoons of the Guard. Af- 
ter the battle of Waterloo — in which he was slightl}" 
wounded, and where he won the cross of an officer of 
the Legion of honor — he happened to be near Marshal 
Davoust at Saint-Denis, and was not with the army of 
the Loire. In consequence of this, and through Da- 
voust’s intercession, his cross and his rank were secured 
to him, but he was placed on half-pay. 

Joseph, anxious about his future, studied all through 
this period with an ardor which several times made 
him ill in the midst of these tumultuous events. 

“It is the smell of the paints,” Agathe said to Ma- 
dame Descoings. “ He ought to give up a business so 
injurious to his health.” 

However, all Agathe's anxieties were at this time for 
her son the lieutenant-colonel. When she saw him 
again in 1816, reduced from the salary of nine thou- 
sand francs (paid to a commander in the dragoons of 
the Imperial Guard) to a half-pay of three hundred 
francs a month, she fitted up her attic rooms for him, 
and spent her savings in doing so. Philippe was one 
of the faithful Bonapartes of the cafe Lemblin, that con- 
stitutional Boeotia ; he acquired the habits, manners. 


38 


The Two Brothers, 


style, and life of a half-pay officer; indeed, like any 
other young man of twenty-one, he exaggerated them, 
vowed in good earnest a mortal enmity to the Bour- 
bons, never reported himself at the War department, 
and even refused opportunities which were offered to 
him for employment in the infantry with his rank of lieu- 
tenant-colonel. In his mother’s eyes, Philippe seemed 
in all this to be displaying a noble character. 

“The father himself could have done no more,” she 
said. 

Philippe’s half-pay sufficed him ; he cost nothing at 
home, whereas all Joseph’s expenses were paid by the 
two widows. From that moment, Agathe’s preference 
for Philippe was openly shown. Up to that tim^ it 
had been secret ; but the persecution of this faithful ser- 
vant of the Emperor, the recollection of the wound re- 
ceived by her cherished son, his courage in adversity, 
which, voluntary though it were, seemed to her a glori- 
ous adversity, drew forth all Agathe’s tenderness. The 
one sentence, “He is unfortunate,” explained and jus- 
tified everything. Joseph himself, — with the innate 
simplicity which superabounds in the artist-soul in its 
opening years, and who was, moreover, brought up to 
admire his big brother, — so far from being hurt by the 
preference of their mother, encouraged it by sharing 
her worship of the hero who had carried Napoleon’s 
orders on two battlefields, and was wounded at Water- 
loo. How could he doubt the superiority of the grand 
brother, whom he had beheld in the green and gold uni- 
form of the dragoons of the Guard, commanding his 
squadron on the Champ de Mars? 

Agathe, notwithstanding this preference, was an ex- 
cellent mother. She loved Joseph, though not blindly ; 


The Two Brothers. 


39 


she simply was unable to understand him. Joseph 
adored his mother ; Philippe let his mother adore him. 
Towards iier, the dragoon softened his military bru- 
tality ; but he never concealed the contempt he felt for 
Joseph, — expressing it, however, in a friendly way. 
When he looked at his brother, weak and sickly as he 
was at seventeen years of age, shrunken with deter- 
mined toil, and over- weighted with his powerful head, 
he nicknamed him “ Cub.” Philippe’s patronizing man- 
ners would have wounded any one less carelessl^^ in- 
different than the artist, who had, moreover, a firm belief 
in the goodness of heart which soldiers hid, he thought, 
beneath a brutal exterior. Joseph did not yet know, 
poor boy, that soldiers of genius are as gentle and cour- 
teous in manner as other superior men in any walk of 
life. All genius is alike, wherever found. 

“Poor boy!” said Philippe to his mother, “we 
must n’t plague him ; let him do as he likes.” 

To his mother’s eyes the colonel’s contempt was a 
mark of fraternal affection. 

“ Philippe will always love and protect his brother,” 
she thought to herself. 


40 


The Two Brothers, 


III. 

In 1816, Joseph obtained his mother’s permission to 
convert the garret which adjoined his attic room into an 
atelier, and Madame Descoings gave him a little money 
for the indispensable requirements of the painter’s trade ; 
— in the minds of the two widows, the art of painting 
was nothing but a trade. With the feeling and ardor 
of his vocation, the lad himself arranged his humble 
atelier. Madame Descoings persuaded the owner of 
the house to put a skylight in the roof. The garret 
was turned into a vast hall painted in chocolate-color 
by Joseph himself. On the walls he hung a few sketches. 
Agathe contributed, not without reluctance, a little iron 
stove ; so that her son might be able to work at home, 
without, however, abandoning the studio of Gros, nor 
that of Schinner. 

The constitutional party, supported chiefly by officers 
on half-pay and the Bonapartists, were at this time 
inciting emeutes around the Chamber of Deputies, on 
behalf of the Charter, though no one actually wanted it. 
Several conspiracies were brewing. Philippe, who dab- 
bled in them, was arrested, and then released for want 
of proof ; but the minister of war cut short his half-pa}^ 
by putting him on the active list, — a step that might be 
called a form of discipline. France was no longer safe ; 
Philippe was liable to fall into some trap laid for him 
by spies, — provocative agents, as they were called, be- 
ing much talked of in those days. 


The Two Brothers. 


41 


While Philippe played billiards in disaffected cafes, 
losing his time and acquiring the habit of wetting his 
whistle with “little glasses” of all sorts of liquors, 
Agathe lived in mortal terror for the safety of the 
great man of the family. The Grecian sages were 
too much accustomed to wend their nightly way up 
Madame Bridau’s staircase, finding the two widows 
ready and waiting, and hearing from them all the news 
of their day, ever to break up the habit of coming to 
the green salon for their game of cards. The minis- 
try of the interior, though purged of its former em- 
ployes in 1816, had retained Claparon, one of those 
cautious men, who whisper the news of the “ Moniteur,” 
adding invariably, “ Don’t quote me.” Desroches, who 
had retired from active service some time after old Du 
Bruel, was still battling for his pension. The three 
friends, who were witnesses of Agathe’s distress, 
advised her to send the colonel to travel in foreign 
countries. 

“ They talk about conspiracies, and your son, with 
his disposition, will be certain to fall a victim in some 
of them ; there is plenty of treachery in these days.” 

“ Philippe is cut from the wood the Emperor made into 
marshals,” said Du Bruel, in a low voice, looking cau- 
tiously about him ; “ and he mustn’t give up his pro- 
fession. Let him serve in the East, in India — ” 

“ Think of his health,” said Agathe. 

“Why doesn’t he get some place, or business ?” 
said old Desroches ; “ there are plenty of private offices 
to be had. I am going as head of a bureau in an in- 
surance company, as soon as I have got my pension.” 

“ Philippe is a soldier ; he would not like to be any- 
thing else,” said the warlike Agathe. 


42 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Then he ought to have the sense to ask for employ- 
ment — ” 

“ And serve these others ! ” cried the widow. “ Oh ! 
I will never give him that advice.” 

“You are wrong,” said Du Bruel. “My son has 
just got an appointment through the Due de Navarreins. 
The Bourbons are very good to those who are sincere 
in rallying to them. Your son could be appointed lieu- 
tenant-colonel to a regiment.” 

“ They only appoint nobles in the cavalry. Philippe 
would never rise to be a colonel,” said Madame Des- 
coings. 

Agathe, much alarmed, entreated Philippe to travel 
abroad, and put himself at the service of some foreign 
power who, she thought, would gladly welcome a staff 
officer of the Emperor. 

“Serve a foreign nation!” cried Philippe, with 
horror. 

Agathe kissed her son with enthusiasm. 

“ His father all over ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ He is right,” said Joseph. “ France is too proud 
of her heroes to let them be heroic elsewhere. Na- 
poleon may return once more.” 

However, to satisfy his mother, Philippe took up 
the dazzling idea of joining General Lallemand in the 
United States, and helping him to found what was called 
the Champ d’Asile, one of the most disastrous swindles 
that ever appeared under the name of national sub- 
scription. Agathe gave ten thousand francs to start her 
son, and she went to Havre to see him off. By the end 
of 1817, she had accustomed herself to live on the six 
hundred francs a year which remained to her from her 
property in the Funds ; then, by a lucky chance, she made 


The Two Brothers, 


43 


/ 


a good investment of the ten thousand francs she still 
kept of her savings, from which she obtained an inter- 
est of seven per cent. Joseph wished to emulate in his 
mother’s devotion. He dressed like a bailiff ; wore the 
commonest shoes and blue stockings ; denied himself 
gloves, and burned charcoal ; he lived on bread and 
milk and Brie cheese. The poor lad got no sympath}’, 
except from Madame Descoings, and from Bixiou, his 
student-friend and comrade, who was then making those 
admirable caricatures of his, and filling a small office in 
the ministr}'. 

“ With what joy I welcomed the summer of 1818 ! ” 
said Joseph Bridau in after-years, relating his troubles ; 
“ the sun saved me the cost of charcoal.” 

As good a colorist by this time as Gros himself, 
Joseph now went to his master for consultation only. 
He was already meditating a tilt against classical tradi- 
tions, and Grecian conventionalities, in short, against the 
leading-strings which held down an art to which Nature 
as she is belongs, in the omnipotence of her creations and 
her imagery. Joseph made ready for a struggle which, 
from the day when he first exhibited in the Salon, has 
never ceased. It was a terrible year. Roguin, the 
notary of Madame Descoings and Madame Bridau, ab- 
sconded with the moneys held back for seven years from 
Madame Descoings’s annuity, which by that time were 
producing two thousand francs a year. Three days after 
this disaster, a bill of exchange for a thousand francs, 
drawn by Philippe upon his mother, arrived from New 
York. The poor fellow, misled like so many others, 
had lost his all in the Champ d’Asile. A letter, which 
accompanied the bill, drove Agathe, Joseph, and the 
Descoings to tears, and told of debts contracted in 


/ 


44 


The Two Brothers, 


New York, where his comrades in misfortunes had in- 
dorsed for him. 

“ It was I who made him go I ” cried the poor mother, 
eager to divert the blame from Philippe. 

“ I advise you not to send him on many such jour- 
nej's,” said the old Descoings to her niece. 

Madame Descoings was heroic. She continued to 
give the three thousand francs a j’ear to Madame Bri- 
dau, but she still paid the dues on her trey which had 
never turned up since the year 1799. About this time, 
she began to doubt the honesty of the government, and 
declared it was capable of keeping the three numbers 
in the urn, so as to excite the shareholders to put in 
enormous stakes. After a rapid survey of all their re- 
sources, it seemed to the two women impossible to raise 
the thousand francs without selling out the little that 
remained in the Funds. The}* talked of pawning their 
silver and part of the linen, and even the needless 
pieces of furniture. Joseph, alarmed at these sugges- 
tions, went to see Gerard and told him their cii’cum- 
stances. The great painter obtained an order from the 
household of the king for two copies of a portrait of 
Louis XVIII., at five hundred francs each. Though 
not naturally generous, Gros took his pupil to an artist- 
furnishing house and fitted him out with the necessary 
materials. But the thousand francs could not be had 
till the copies were delivered, so Joseph painted four 
panels in ten days, sold them to the dealers and brought 
his mother the thousand francs with which to meet the 
bill of exchange when it fell due. Eight days later, came 
a letter from the colonel, informing his mother that he 
was about to return to France on board a packet from 
New York, whose captain had trusted him for the pas- 


The Two Brothers. 


45 


sage-money. Philippe announced that he should need 
at least a thousand francs on his arrival at Hatre. 

“ Good,” said Joseph to his mother, “1 shall have 
finished my copies by that time, and you can carry him 
the money.” 

“ Dear Joseph ! ” cried Agathe in tears, kissing her 
son, “ God will bless j^ou. You do love him, then, poor 
persecuted fellow ? He is indeed our glory and our hope 
for the future. So young, so brave, so unfortunate ! 
everything is against him ; we three must always stand 
by him.” 

“ You see now that painting is good for something,” 
cried Joseph, overjoyed to have won his mother’s per- 
mission to be a great artist. 

Madame Bridau rushed to meet her beloved son. 
Colonel Philippe, at Havre. Once there, she walked 
every day be^'ond the round tower built by Fran 9 ois 1., 
to look out for the American packet, enduring the 
keenest anxieties. Mothers alone know how such suf- 
ferings quicken maternal love. The vessel arrived on 
a fine morning in October, 1819, without dela}^ and 
having met with no mishap. The sight of a mother and 
the air of one’s native land produces a certain efiect upon 
the coarsest nature, especially after the miseries of a sea- 
vo 3 ^age. Philippe gave way to a rush of feeling, which 
made Agathe think to herself, “Ah! how he loves 
me!” Alas, the hero loved but one person in the 
world, and that person was Colonel Philippe. His mis- 
fortunes in Texas, his stay in New York, — a place where 
speculation and individualism are carried to the highest 
pitch, where the brutality of self-interest attains to cyni- 
cism, where man, essentiall}' isolated, is compelled to 
push his waj" for himself and by himself, where politeness 


46 


The Two Brothers, 


does not exist, — in fact, even the minor events of 
Philippe’s journey had developed in him the worst traits 
of an old campaigner : he had grown b|.’utal, selfish, 
rude ; he drank and smoked to excess ; physical hard- 
ships and poverty had depraved him. Moreover, he 
considered himself persecuted ; and the eflfect of that 
idea is to make persons who are unintelligent persecu- 
tors and bigots themselves. To Philippe’s conception 
of life, the universe began at his head and ended at his 
feet, and the sun shone for him alone. The things he 
had seen in New York, interpreted by his practical 
nature, carried away his last scruples on the score of 
morality. For such beings, there are but two ways of 
existence. Either they believe, or they do not believe ; 
they have the virtues of honest men, or they give them- 
selves up to the demands of necessity ; in which case 
they proceed to turn their slightest interests and each 
passing impulse of their passions into necessities. 

Such a s^^stem of life carries a man a long way. It 
was only in appearance that Colonel Philippe retained 
the frankness, plain-dealing, and easy-going freedom of 
a soldier. This made him, in reality, very dangerous ; 
he seemed as guileless as a child, but, thinking only of 
himself, he never did anything without reflecting what he 
had better do, — like a wil^' lawyer planning some trick 
a la Maitre Gonin ; words cost him nothing, and he 
said as many as he could get people to believe. If, un- 
fortunately, some one refused to accept the explanations 
with which he justified the contradictions between his 
conduct and his professions, the colonel, who was a 
good shot and could defy the most adroit fencing- 
master, and possessed the coolness of one to whom life 
is indiflercnt, was quite ready to demand satisfaction for 


The Two Brothers, 


47 


the first sharp word ; and when a man shows himself 
prepared for violence there is little more to be said. 
Ilis imposing stature had taken on a certain rotundit}". 
his face was bronzed from exposure in Texas, he was 
still succinct in speech, and had acquired the decisive 
tone of a man obliged to make himself feared among 
the populations of a new world. Thus developed, 
plainlj^ dressed, his bod}" trained to endurance by his 
recent hardships, Philippe in the eyes of his mother was 
a hero ; in point of fact, he had simply become what 
people (not to mince matters) call a blackguard. 

Shocked at the destitution of her cherished son, 
Madame Bridau bought him a complete outfit of clothes 
at Havre. After listening to the tale of his woes, she 
had not the heart to stop his drinking and eating and 
amusing himself as a man just returned from the Champ 
d’Asile was likely to eat and drink and divert himself. 
It was certainly a fine conception, — that of conquering 
Texas with the remains of the imperial army. The 
failure was less in the idea than in the men who con- 
ceived it ; for Texas is to-day a republic, with a future 
full of promise. This scheme of Liberalism under the 
Restoration distinctly proves that the interests of the 
party were purely selfish and not national, seeking 
power and nothing else. Neither men, nor occasion, nor 
cause, nor devotion were lacking ; only the money and 
the support of the hypocritical party at home who dis- 
pensed enormous sums, but gave nothing when it came 
to recovering empire. Household managers like Agathe 
have a plain common-sense which enables them to per- 
ceive such political chicane : the poor woman saw the 
truth through the lines of her son’s tale ; for she had 
read, in the exiles interests, all the pompous editorials 


48 


The Two Brothers. 


of the constitutional journals, and watched the manage- 
ment of the famous subscription, which produced barely 
one hundred and fifty thousand francs when it ought to 
have yielded five or six millions. The Liberal leaders 
soon found out that they were playing into the hands of 
Louis XVIII. by exporting the glorious remnants of 
our grand army, and they promptly abandoned to their 
fate the most devoted, the most ardent, the most enthu- 
siastic of its heroes, — those, in short, who had gone in 
the advance. Agathe was never able, however, to 
make her son see that he was more duped than perse- 
cuted. With blind belief in her idol, she supposed her- 
self ignorant, and deplored, as Philippe did, the evil 
times which had done him such wrong. Up to this 
time he was, to her mind, throughout his misfortunes, 
less faulty than victimized by his noble nature, his 
energy, the fall of the Emperor, the duplicity of the 
Liberals, and the rancor of the Bourbons against the 
Bonapartists. During the week at Havre, a week which 
was horribly costly, she dared not ask him to make terms 
with the royal government and apply to the minister of 
war. She had hard work to get him away from Havre, 
where living is very expensive, and to bring him back to 
Paris before her money gave out. Madame Descoings 
and Joseph, who were waiting their arrival in the court- 
yard of the coach-office of the Messageries Roy ales, were 
struck with the change in Agathe’s face. 

“ Your mother has aged ten years in two months,” 
whispered the Descoings to Joseph, as they all em- 
braced, and the two trunks were being handed down. 

“ How do you do, mere Descoings?” was the cool 
greeting the colonel bestowed on the old woman whom 
Joseph was in the habit of calling “ maman Descoings.” 


The Two Brothers, 


49 


“ I have no money to pay for a hackney-coach,” said 
Agathe, in a sad voice. 

“I have,” replied the young painter. “What a 
splendid color Philippe has turned ! ” he cried, looking 
at his brother. 

“Yes, IVe browned like a pipe,” said Philippe. 
“ But as for you, you ’re not a bit changed, little man.” 

Joseph, who was now twenty-one, and much thought 
of by the friends who had stood by him in his da 3 ^s of 
trial, felt his own strength and was aware of his talent ; 
he represented the art of painting in a circle of 3 ’oung 
men whose lives were devoted to science, letters, 
politics, and philosophy. Consequently, he was wounded 
b}^ his brother’s contempt, which Philippe still further 
emphasized with a gesture, pulling his ears as if he 
were still a child. Agathe noticed the coolness which 
succeeded the first glow of tenderness on the part of 
Joseph and Madame Descoings ; but she hastened to 
tell them of Philippe’s sufferings in exile, and so les- 
sened it. Madame Descoings, wishing to make a fes- 
tival of the return of the prodigal, as she called him 
under her breath, had prepared one of her good dinners, 
to which old Claparon and the elder 'Desroches were 
invited. All the family friends were to come, and did 
come, in the evening. Joseph had invited L^on Giraud, 
d’ Arthez, Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, and Horace 
Bianchon, his friends of the fraternity. Madame Des- 
coings had promised Bixiou, her so-called step-son, that 
the young people should play at ecart4. Desroches 
the younger, who had now taken, under his father’s stern 
rule, his degree at law, was also of the party. Du Bruel, 
Claparon, Desroches, and the Abb(5 Loraux carefullj^ 
observed the returned exile, whose manners and coarse 


60 


The Two Brothers, 


features, and voice roughened by the abuse of liquors, 
together with his vulgar glance and phraseology, 
alarmed them not a little. While Joseph was placing 
the card-tables, the more intimate of the family friends 
surrounded Agathe and asked, — 

“ What do you intend to make of Philippe? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she answered, “ but he is determined 
not to serve the Bourbons.” 

“ Then it will be very difficult to find him a place in 
France. If he won’t re-enter the army, he can’t be 
readily got into government employ,” said old Du Bruel. 
“ And you liave only to listen to him to see he could 
never, like my son, make his fortune by writing 
plays.” 

The motion of Agathe’s eyes, with which alone she 
replied to this speech, showed how anxious Philippe’s 
future made her ; they all kept silence. The exile him- 
self, Bixiou, and the younger Desroches were playing at 
ecarte, a game which was then the rage. 

“ Maman Descoings, my brother has no money to 
play with,” whispered Joseph in the good woman’s ear. 

The devotee of the Royal Lottery fetched tyf^enty 
francs and gave them to the artist, who slipped them 
secretly into his brother’s hand. All the company were 
now assembled. There were two tables of boston ; and 
the party grew lively. Philippe proved a bad player : 
after winning for awhile, he began to lose ; and by eleven 
o’cloek he owed fifty francs to young Desroches and to 
Bixiou. The racket and the disputes at the ecarte 
table resounded more than once in the ears of the more 
peaceful boston players, who were watching Philippe 
surreptitiously. The exile showed such signs of bad 
temper that in his final dispute with the 3’oungev 


The Two Brothers. 


51 


Desroches, who was none too amiable himself, the 
elder Desroches joined in, and though his son was 
decidedly in the right, he declared he was in the 
wrong, and forbade him to play any more. Madame 
Descoings did the same with her grandson, who was 
beginning to let fly certain witticisms ; and although 
Philippe, so far, had not understood him, there was 
always a chance that one of the barbed arrows might 
pierce the colonel’s thick skull and put the sharp jester 
in peril. 

“You must be tired,” whispered Agathe in Philippe’s 
ear; “ come to bed.” 

^‘Travel educates youth,” said Bixiou, grinning, when 
Madame Bridau and the colonel had disappeared. 

Joseph, who got up at dawn and went to bed early, 
did not see the end of the party. The next morning 
Agathe and Madame Descoings, while preparing break- 
fast, could not help remarking that soirees would be ter- 
ribly expensive if Philippe were to go on playing that 
sort of game, as the Descoings phrased it. The worthy 
old woman, then sevent3"-six 3^ears of age, proposed to 
sell her furniture, give up her appartement on the second 
floor (which the owner was only too glad to occupy), and 
take Agathe’s parlor for her chamber, making the other 
room a sitting-room and dining-room for the family. 
In this way they could save seven hundred francs 
a year; which would enable them to give Philippe 
fifty francs a month until he could find something to 
do. Agathe accepted the sacrifice. When the colonel 
came down and his mother had asked how he liked 
his little bedroom, the two widows explained to him 
the situation of the family. Madame Descoings 
and Agathe possessed, by putting all their resources 


52 


The Two Brothers, 


together, an income of five thousand three hundred 
francs, four thousand of which belonged to Madame 
Descoings and were merely a life annuity. The Des- 
coings made an allowance of six hundred a j^ear to 
Bixiou, whom she had acknowledged as her grandson 
during the last few months, also six hundred to Joseph ; 
the rest of her income, together with that of Agathe, 
was spent for the household wants. All their savings 
were by this time eaten up. 

Make yourselves eas}’^,” said the lieutenant-colonel. 
“ I ’ll find a situation and put you to no expense ; all I 
need for the present is board and lodging.” 

Agathe kissed her son, and Madame Descoings slipped 
a hundred francs into his hand to pay for his losses of 
the night before. In ten days the furniture was sold, the 
appartement given up, and the change in Agathe’s do- 
mestic arrangements accomplished with a celerity seldom 
seen outside of Paris. During those ten daj'S, Philippe 
regularly decamped after breakfast, came back for din- 
ner, was off again for the evening, and only got home 
about midnight to go to bed. He contracted certain 
habits half mechanically, and they soon became rooted 
in him ; he got his boots blacked on the Pont Neuf for 
the two sous it would have cost him to go by the Pont 
des Arts to the Palais-Roj^al, where he consumed regu- 
larly two glasses of brandy while reading the newspa- 
pers, — an occupation which employed him till midday ; 
after that he sauntered along the rue Vivienne to the 
cafe Minerve, where the Liberals congregated, and 
where he played at billiards with a number of old com- 
rades. While winning and losing, Philippe swallowed 
four or five more glasses of divers liquors, and smoked 
ten or a dozen cigars in going and coming, and idling 


The Two Brothers, 


63 


along the streets. In the evening, after consuming a 
few pipes at the Hollandais smoking-rooms, he would 
go to some gambling-place towards ten o’clock at night. 
The waiter handed him a card and a pin ; he always in- 
quired of certain well-seasoned players about the chances 
of the red or the black, and staked ten francs when the 
lucky moment seemed to come ; never playing more 
than three times, win or lose. If he won, which usually 
happened, he drank a tumbler of punch and went home 
to his garret ; but by that time he talked of smashing 
the ultras and the Bourbon body-guard, and trolled out, 
as he mounted the staircase, “We watch to save the 
Empire ! ” His poor mother, hearing him, used to think 

How gay Philippe is to-night ! ” and then she would 
creep up and kiss him, without complaining of the fetid 
odors of the punch, and the brandy, and the pipes. 

“You ought to be satisfied with me, my dear mother,” 
he said, towards the end of January ; “I lead the 
most regular of lives.” 

The colonel had dined five times at a restaurant with 
some of his army comrades. These old soldiers were 
quite frank with each other on the state of their own 
affairs, all the while talking of certain hopes which they 
based on the building of a submarine vessel, expected to 
bring about the deliverance of the Emperor. Among 
these former comrades, Philippe particularly liked an 
old captain of the dragoons of the Guard, named Girou- 
deau, in whose company he had seen his first service. 
This friendship with the late dragoon led Philippe into 
completing what Rabelais called “the devil’s equipage 
and he added to his drams, and his tobacco, and his 
play, a “ fourth wheel.” 

One evening at the beginning of February, Giroudeau 


54 


The Two Brothers. 


took Philippe after dinner to the Gait^, occupying a 
free box sent to a theatrical journal belonging to his 
nephew Finot, in whose office Giroudeau was cashier 
and secretary. Both were dressed after the fashion of 
the Bonapartist officers who now belonged to the Con- 
stitutional Opposition ; they wore ample overcoats with 
square collars, buttoned to the chin and coming down 
to their heels, and decorated with the rosette of the 
Legion of honor ; and they carried malacca canes with 
loaded knobs, which they held by strings of braided 
leather. The late troopers had just (to use one of 
their own expressions) “ made a bout of it,” and were 
mutually unbosoming their hearts as they entered the 
box. Through the fumes of a certain number of bot- 
tles and various glasses of various liquors, Giroudeau 
pointed out to Philippe a plump and agile little ballet- 
girl whom he called Florentine, whose good graces and 
affection, together with the box, belonged to him as the 
representative of an all-powerful journal. 

“But,” said Philippe, “I should like to knowhow 
far her good graces go for such an iron-gray old trooper 
as 3'ou.” 

“Thank God,” replied Giroudeau, “IVe stuck to 
the traditions of our glorious uniform. I have never 
wasted a farthing upon a woman in m}’^ life.” 

“What’s that?” said Philippe, putting a finger on 
his left eye. 

“ That is so,” answered Giroudeau. “But, between 
ourselves, the newspaper counts for a good deal. To- 
morrow, in a couple of lines, we shall advise the 
managers to let Mademoiselle Florentine dance a par- 
ticular step, and so forth. Faith, my dear boy, I ’m 
uncommonly lucky ! ” 


The Two Brothers. 


55 


“ Well! ” thought Philippe ; “if this worthy Girou- 
deau, with a skull as polished as my knee, forty-eight 
years, a big stomach, a face like a ploughman, and a 
nose like a potato, can get a ballet-girl, I ought to be 
the lover of the first actress in Paris. Where does one 
find such luck?” he said aloud. 

“ I ’U show you Florentine’s place to-night. My 
Dulcinea only earns fifty francs a month at the thea- 
tre,” added Giroudeau, “but she is very prettily set 
up, thanks to an old silk dealer named Cardot, who 
gives her five hundred francs a month.” 

“ Well, but — ? ” exclaimed the jealous Philippe. 

“ Bah ! ” said Giroudeau ; “ true love is blind.” 

When the play was over Giroudeau took Philippe to 
Mademoiselle Florentine’s appartement, which was close 
to the theatre, in the rue de Crussol. 

“We must behave ourselves,” said Giroudeau. 
“ Florentine’s mother is here. You see, I have n’t the 
means to pay for one, so the worthy woman is really 
her own mother. She used to be a concierge, but she’s 
not without intelligence. Call her Madame ; she makes 
a point of it.” 

Florentine happened that night to have a friend with 
her, — a certain Marie Godeschal, beautiful as an 
angel, cold as a danseuse., and a pupil of Vestris, who 
foretold for her a great choregraphic destiny. Ma- 
demoiselle Godeschal, anxious to make her first ap- 
pearance at the Panorama-Dramatique under the name 
of Mariette, based her hopes on the protection and 
infiuence of a first gentleman of the bedchamber, to 
whom Vestris had promised to introduce her. Vestris, 
stiU green himself at this period, did not think his pu- 
pil sufficiently trained to risk the introduction. The 


56 


The Two Brothers. 


ambitious girl did, in the end, make her pseudonym 
of Mariette famous ; and the motive of her ambition, it 
must be said, was praiseworth3^ She had a brother, a 
clerk in Derville’s law office. Left orphans and very 
poor, and devoted to each other, the brother and sister 
had seen life such as it is in Paris. The one wished to 
be a law3"er that he might support his sister, and he lived 
on ten sous a day ; the other had coldly resolved to be a 
dancer, and to profit b^’ her beauty as much as bj" her 
legs that she might buy a practice for her brother. 
Outside of their feeling for each other, and of llieir 
mutual life and interests, everything was to them, as it 
once was to the Romans and the Hebrews, barbaric, 
outlandish, and hostile. This generous affection, which 
nothing ever lessened, explained Mariette to those who 
knew her intimatel3\ 

The brother and sister were living at this time on the 
eighth fioor of a house in the Vieille rue du Temple. 
Mariette had begun her studies when she was ten years 
old ; she was now just sixteen. Alas ! for want of 
becoming clothes, her beauty, hidden under a coarse 
shawl, dressed in calico, and ill-kept, could only be 
guessed by those Parisians who devote themselves to 
hunting grisettes and the quest of beauty in misfor- 
tune, as she trotted past them with mincing step, 
mounted on iron pattens. Philippe fell in love with 
Mariette. To Mariette, Philippe was commander of the 
dragoons of the Guard, a staff-officer of the Emperor, a 
young man of twenty^-seven, and above all, the means 
of proving herself superior to Florentine by the evident 
superiority of Philippe over Giroudeau. Florentine 
and Giroudeau, the one to promote his comrade’s hap- 
piness, the other to get a protector for her friend, 


The Two Brothers. 


57 


pushed Philippe and Mariette into a mariage en de- 
trempe.^ — a Parisian term which is equivalent to “ mor- 
ganatic marriage,” as applied to royal personages. 
Philippe when they left the house revealed his poverty 
to Giroudeau, but the old roue reassured him. 

“I’ll speak to my nephew Finot,” he said, “You 
see, Philippe, the reign of phrases and quill-drivers 
is upon us; we may as well submit. To-day, scrib- 
blers are paramount. Ink has ousted gunpowder, 
and talk takes the place of shot. After all, these 
little toads of editors are pretty good fellows, and very 
clever. Come and see me to-morrow at the newspaper 
office ; by that time I shall have said a word for you to 
my nephew. Before long you ’ll have a place on some 
journal or other. Mariette, who is taking you at this 
moment (don’t deceive yourself) because she literally 
has nothing, no engagement, no chance of appearing 
on the stage, and I have told her that you are going 
on a newspaper like myself, — Mariette will try to 
make you believe she is loving you for yourself ; and 
you will believe her ! Do as I do, — keep her as long 
as you can. I was so much in love with Florentine 
that I begged Finot to write her up and help her to a 
debut ; but my nephew replied, ‘ You say she has 
talent; well, the day after her first appearance she 
will turn her back on you.’ Oh, that ’s Finot all over ! 
You ’ll find him a knowing one.” 

The next day, about four o’clock, Philippe went to 
the rue de Sentier, where he found Giroudeau in the 
entresol, — caged like a wild beast in a sort of hen-coop 
with a sliding panel ; in which was a little stove, a little 
table, two little chairs, and some little logs of wood. 
This establishment bore the magic words, Subscription 


68 


The Two Brothers, 


Office, painted on the door in black letters, and the 
word Cashier^ written by hand and fastened to the grat- 
ing of the cage. Along the wall that lay opposite to 
the cage, was a bench, where, at this moment, a one- 
armed man was breakfasting, who was called Coloquinte 
by Giroudeau, doubtless from the Egyptian colors of 
his skin. 

“ A pretty hole ! ” exclaimed Philippe, looking round 
the room. “In the name of thunder! what are you 
doing here, you who charged with poor Colonel Chabert 
at Eylau ? You — a gallant officer ! ” 

“ Well, yes ! broum I broum 1 — a gallant officer keep- 
ing the accounts of a little newspaper,” said Giroudeau, 
settling his black silk skull-cap. “Moreover, I’m the 
working editor of all that rubbish,” he added, pointing 
to the newspaper itself. 

“And I, who went to Eg3"pt, I’m obliged to stamp 
it,” said the one-armed man. 

“ Hold 3’our tongue, Coloquinte,” said Giroudeau. 
“You are in presence of a hero who carried the Em- 
peror’s orders at the battle of Montereau.” 

Coloquinte saluted. “ That ’s where I lost my missing 
arm ! ” he said. 

“Coloquinte, look after the den. I’m going up to 
see my nephew.” 

The two soldiers mounted to the fourth floor, where, 
in an attic room at the end of a passage, they found a 
young man with a cold light eye, lying on a dirty sofa. 
The representative of the press did not stir, though he 
ofiered cigars to his uncle and his uncle’s friend. 

“ My good fellow,” said Giroudeau in a soothing and 
humble tone, “ this is the gallant cavalry officer of the 
Imperial Guard of whom I spoke to yon.” 


The Two Brothers. 


69 


“Eh! well?” said Finot, eying Philippe, who, like 
Giroiideau, lost all his assurance before the diplomatist 
of the press. 

“ My dear boy,” said Giroudeau, trying to pose as an 
uncle, “ the colonel has just returned from Texas.” 

“ Ah ! you were taken in by that affair of the Champ 
d’Asile, were you ? Seems to me you were rather young 
to turn into a Soldier-laborer.” 

The bitterness of this jest will only be understood by 
those who remember the deluge of engravings, screens, 
clocks, bronzes, and plaster-casts produced by the idea 
of the Soldier-laborer, a splendid image of Napoleon and 
his heroes, which afterwards made its appearance on the 
stage in vaudevilles. That idea, however, obtained a 
national subscription ; and we still find, in the depths 
of the provinces, old wall-papers which bear the effigy 
of the Soldier-laborer. If this young man had not been 
Giroudeau’s nephew, Philippe would have boxed his 
ears. 

“Yes, I was taken in by it; I lost my time, and 
twelve thousand francs to boot,” answered Philippe, 
trying to force a grin. 

“You are still fond of the Emperor? ” asked Finot. 

“ He is my god,” answered Philippe Bridau. 

“ You are a Liberal?” 

“ I shall always belong to the Constitutional Opposi- 
tion. Oh Foy ! oh Manuel ! oh Laffitte I what men they 
are ! They 'll rid us of these others, — these wretches, 
who came back to France at the heels of the enemy.” 

“ Well,” said Finot coldly, “ you ought to make some- 
thing out of your misfortunes ; for you are the victim of 
the Liberals, my good fellow. Sta}^ a Liberal, if you 
really value your opinions, but threaten the party with 


60 


The Two Brothers, 


the follies in Texas which you are ready to show up. You 
never got a farthing of the national subscription, did 
you? Well, then you hold a fine position : demand an 
account of that subscription. I ’ll tell you how j^ou can 
do it. A new Opposition journal is just starting, under 
the auspices of the deputies of the Left ; you shall be the 
cashier, with a salary of three thousand francs. A per- 
manent place. All you want is some one to go security 
for you in twenty thousand francs ; find that, and j^ou 
shall be installed within a week. I ’ll advise the Lib- 
erals to silence you by giving you the place. Mean- 
time, talk, threaten, — threaten loudly.” 

Giroudeau let Philippe, who was profuse in his thanks, 
go down a few steps before him, and then he turned back 
to say to his nephew, “Well, you are a queer fellow ! 
you keep me here on twelve hundred francs — ” 

“ That journal won’t live a year,” said Finot. “ I ’ve 
got something better for you.” 

“ Thunder ! ” cried Philippe to Giroudeau. “ He ’s 
no fool, that nephew of yours. I never once thought of 
making something, as he calls it, out of my position.” 

That night at the cafe Lemblin and the cafe Minerve 
Colonel Philippe fulminated against the Liberal party, 
which had raised subscriptions, sent heroes to Texas, 
talked hypocritically of Soldier-laborers, and left them 
to starve, after taking the money they had put into it, 
and keeping them in exile for two years. 

‘ ‘ I am going to demand an account of the moneys 
collected by the subscription for the Champ d’Asile,” he 
said to one of the frequenters of the cafe, who repeated 
it to the journalists of the Left. 

Philippe did not go back to the rue Mazarin ; he went 
to Mariette and told her of his forthcoming appointment 


The Two Brothers. 


61 


on a newspaper with ten thousand subscribers, in which 
her choregraphic claims should be warmly advanced. 

Agathe and Madame Descoings waited up for Phil- 
ippe in fear and trembling, for the Due de Berry had just 
been assassinated. The colonel came home a few min- 
utes after breakfast ; and when his mother showed her 
uneasiness at his absence, he grew angrj’^ and asked if he 
were not of age. 

“ In the name of thunder, what’s all this ! here have 
I brought you some good news, and you both look like 
tombstones. The Due de Berry is dead, is he? — well, 
so much the better! that’s one the less, at any rate. 
As for me, I am to be cashier of a newspaper, with a 
salary of three thousand francs, and there you are, out 
of all your anxeties on my account.” 

“ Is it possible?” cried Agathe. 

“ Yes ; provided j^ou can go security for me in twenty 
thousand francs ; you need only deposit 3^our shares in 
the Funds, you will draw the interest all the same.” 

The two widows, who for nearly two months had been 
desperately anxious to find out what Philippe was about, 
and how he could be provided for, were so overjoyed 
at this prospect that they gave no thought to their other 
catastrophes. That evening, the Grecian sages, old 
Du Bruel, Claparon, whose health was failing, and the 
indexible Desroches were unanimous ; they all advised 
Madame Bridau to go security for her son. The new 
journal, which fortunately was started before the assas- 
sination of the Due de Berry, just escaped the blow 
which Monsieur Decazes then launched at the press. 
Madame Bridau’s shares in the Funds, representing 
thirteen hundred francs’ interest, were transferred as 
security for Philippe, who was then appointed cashier. 


62 


The Two Brothers. 


That good son at once promised to pay one hundred 
francs every month to the two widows, for his board and 
lodging, and was declared by both to be the best of 
sons. Those who had thought ill of him now con- 
gratulated Agathe. 

“ We were unjust to him,” they said. 

Poor Joseph, not to be behind his brother in generos- 
ity, resolved to pay for his own support, and succeeded. 


The Two Brothers. 


63 


IV. 


Three months later, the colonel, who ate and drank 
enough for four men, finding fault with the food and 
compelling the poor widows, on the score of his pay- 
ments, to spend much money on their table, had not 
yet paid down a single penny. His mother and Ma- 
dame Descoings were unwilling, out of delicacy, to re- 
mind him of his promise. The year went by without 
one of those coins which Leon Gozlan so vigorously 
calls “ tigers with five claws ’’ finding its way from 
Philippe’s pocket to the household purse. It is true 
that the colonel quieted his conscience on this score by 
seldom dining at home. 

“ Well, he is happy,” said his mother; “ he is easy 
in mind ; he has a place.” 

Through the influence of a feuiUeton, edited by Ver- 
non, a friend of Bixiou, Finot, and Giroudeau, Mariette 
made her appearance, not at the Panorama-Dramatique 
but at the Porte-Saint-Martin, where she triumphed 
beside the famous Begrand. Among the directors of 
the theatre was a rich and luxurious general officer, 
in love with an actress, for whose sake he had made 
himself an impresario. In Paris, we frequently meet 
with men so fascinated with actresses, singers, or 
ballet-dancers, that they are willing to become directors 
of a theatre out of love. This officer knew Philippe 
and Giroudeau. Mariette’s first appearance, heralded f 
already by Finot’s journal and also by Philippe’s, was 


64 


The Two Brothers. 


promptly arranged by the three officers ; for there seems 
to be solidarity among the passions in a matter of folly. 

The mischievous Bixiou was not long in revealing to 
his grandmother and the devoted Agathe that Philippe, 
the cashier, the hero of heroes, was in love with Mari- 
ette, the celebrated ballet-dancer at the Porte-Saint- 
Martin. The news was a thunder-clap to the two 
widows; Agathe’s religious principles taught her to 
think that all women on the stage were brands in the 
burning; moreover, she thought, and so did Madame 
Descoings, that women of that kind dined off gold, 
drank pearls, and wasted fortunes. 

“Now do you suppose,” said Joseph to his mother, 
“ that my brother is such a fool as to spend his money 
on Mariette ? Such women only ruin rich men.” 

“ They talk of engaging Mariette at the Opera,” said 
Bixiou. “ Don’t be worried, Madame Bridau ; the dip- 
lomatic body often comes to Porte-Saint-Martin, and 
that handsome girl won’t stay long with your son. I 
did hear that an ambassador was madly in love with 
her. By the bye, another piece of news ! Old Claparon 
is dead, and his son, who has become a banker, has 
ordered the cheapest kind of funeral for him. That 
fellow has no education ; they would n’t behave like that 
in China.” 

Philippe, prompted by mercenary motives, proposed 
to Mariette that she should marry him ; but she, know- 
ing herself on the eve of an engagement at the Grand 
Opera, refused the offer, either because she guessed 
the colonel’s motive, or because she saw how impor- 
tant her independence would be to her future fortune. 
For the remainder of this year, Philippe never came 
more than twice a month to see his mother. Where 


The Two Brothers, 


65 


was he? Either at his office, or the theatre, or with 
Mariette. No light whatever as to his conduct reached 
the household in the rue Mazarin. Giroudeau, Finot, 
Bixiou, Vernou, Lousteau, saw him leading a life of 
pleasure. Philippe shared the gay amusements of Tul- 
lia, a leading singer at the Opera, of Florentine, who 
took Mariette’s place at the Porte-Saint-Martin, of 
Florine and Matifat, Coralie and Camusot. After four 
o’clock, when he left his office, until midnight, he 
amused himself; some party of pleasure had usually 
been arranged the night before, — a good dinner, a 
card-party, a supper by some one or other of the set. 
Philippe was in his element. 

This carnival, which lasted eighteen months, was not 
altogether without its troubles. The beautiful Mariette 
no sooner appeared at the Opera, in January, 1821, 
than she captured one of the most distinguished dukes 
of the court of Louis XVIII. Philippe tried to make 
head against the peer, and by the month of April he 
was compelled by his passion, notwithstanding some luck 
at cards, to dip into the funds of which he was cashier. 
By May he had taken eleven hundred francs. In that 
fatal month Mariette started for London, to see what 
could be done with the lords while the temporary opera 
house in the Hotel Choiseul, rue Lepelletier, was being 
prepared. The luckless Philippe had ended, as often 
happens, in loving Mariette notwithstanding her flagrant 
infidelities ; she herself had never thought him anything 
but a dull-minded, brutal soldier, the first rung of a 
ladder on which she never intended to remain long. 
So, foreseeing the time when Philippe would have spent 
all his money, she captured other journalistic support 
which released her from the necessity of depending on 
5 


66 


The Two Brothers. 


him ; nevertheless, she did feel the peculiar gratitude 
that class of women acknowledge towards the first man 
who smooths their way, as it were, among the difficulties 
and horrors of a theatrical career. 

Forced to let bis terrible mistress go to London with- 
out him, Philippe went into winter quarters, as he called 
it, — that is, he returned to his attic room in his moth- 
er’s appartement. He made some gloomy refiections as 
he went to bed that night, and when he got up again. He 
was conscious within himself of the inability to live other- 
wise than as he had been living the last year. The luxury 
that surrounded Mariette, the dinners, the suppers, the 
evenings in the side-scenes, the animation of wits and 
journalists, the sort of racket that went on around him, 
the delights that tickled both his senses and his vanit}^ 
— such a life, found onl}^ in Paris, and offering daily the 
charm of some new thing, was now more than habit, — 
it had become to Philippe as much a necessity as his 
tobacco or his brandy. He saw plainly that he could 
not live without these continual enjoj^ments. The idea 
of suicide came into his head ; not on account of the 
deficit which must soon be discovered in his accounts, 
but because he could no longer live with Mariette in the 
atmosphere of pleasure in which he had disported him- 
self for over a year. Full of these gloomy thoughts, he 
entered for the first time his brother’s painting-room, 
where he found the painter in a blue blouse, copying a 
picture for a dealer. 

“So that’s how pictures are made,” said Philippe, 
by way of opening the conversation. 

“ No,” said Joseph, “ that is how they are copied.” 

“ How much do the}^ pay you for that? ” 

“Eh! never enough ; two hundred and fifty francs. 


The Two Brothers* 


67 


But T study the manner of the masters and learn a 
great deal ; I find out the secrets of their method. 
There ’s one of my own pictures,” he added, pointing 
with the end of his brush to a sketch with the colors 
still moist. 

“ How much do you pocket in a year? ” 

“ Unfortunately, I am known only to painters. 
Schinner backs me ; and he has got me some work at 
the Chateau de Presles, where I am going in October 
to do some arabesques, panels, and other decorations, 
for which the Comte de S^rizy, no doubt, will pay well. 
With such trifles and with orders from the dealers, I 
may manage to earn eighteen hundred to two thousand 
francs a year over and above the working expenses. 
I shall send that picture to the next exhibition ; if it 
hits the public taste, my fortune is made. My friends 
think well of it.” 

“I don’t know anything about such things,” said 
Philippe, in a subdued voice which caused Joseph to 
turn and look at him. 

“ What is the matter?” said the artist, seeing that 
his brother was very pale. 

“ I should like to know how long it would take you 
to paint my portrait ? ” 

If I worked steadil}^, and the weather were clear, I 
could finish it in three or four da3^s.” 

“ That ’s too long ; I have only one day to give 3"ou. 
M3" poor mother loves me so much that I wished to 
leave her my likeness. We will say no more about 
it.” 

“ Why ! are 3"OU going away again?” 

“ I am going never to return,” replied Philippe with 
an air of forced ga3"ety. 


68 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Look here, Philippe, what is the matter? If it is 
anything serious, I am a man and not a ninny. I am ac- 
customed to hard struggles, and if discretion is needed, 
I have it.” 

“ Are you sure? ” 

“ On my honor.” 

“ You will tell no one, no matter who?” 

“ No one.” 

“ Well, I am going to blow my brains out.” 

“ You ! — are you going to fight a duel ? ” 

“ I am going to kill myself.” 

“Why?” 

“ I have taken eleven hundred francs from the funds 
in my hands ; I have got to send in my accounts to- 
morrow morning. Half my security is lost ; our poor 
mother will be reduced to six hundred francs a year. 
That would be nothing! I could make a fortune for 
her later ; but I am dishonored ! I cannot live under 
dishonor — ” 

“ You will not be dishonored if it is paid back. To 
be sure, you will lose your place, and you will only have 
the five hundred francs a year from your cross ; but 
you can live on five hundred francs.” 

“ Farewell ! ” said Philippe, running rapidly down- 
stairs, and not waiting to hear another word. 

Joseph left his studio and went down to breakfast 
with his mother; but Philippe’s confession had taken 
away his appetite. He took Madame Descoings aside 
and told her the terrible news. The old woman made 
a frightened exclamation, let fall the saucepan of milk 
she had in her hand, and fiung herself into a chair. 
Agathe rushed in ; from one exclamation to another 
the mother gathered the fatal truth. 


The Two Brothers, 


69 


“ He ! to fail in honor ! the son of Bridau take the 
money that was trusted to him ! ” 

The widow trembled in every limb ; her eyes dilated 
and then grew fixed; she sat down and burst into 
tears. 

“Where is he?” she cried amid her sobs. “Per- 
haps he has flung himself into the Seine.” i 

“ You must not give up all hope,” said Madame 
Descoings, “because a poor lad has met with a bad 
woman who has led him to do wrong. Dear me ! we 
see that every day. Philippe has had such misfor- 
tunes ! he has had so little chance to be happy and 
loved that we ought not to be surprised at his passion 
for that creature. All passions lead to excess. My 
own life is not without reproach of that kind, and yet 
I call myself an honest woman. A single fault is not 
vice ; and after all, it is only those who do nothing that 
are never deceived.” 

Agathe’s despair overcame her so much that Joseph 
and the Descoings were obliged to lessen Philippe’s 
wrong-doing by assuring her that such things happened 
in all families. 

“But he is twenty-eight years old,” cried Agathe; 
“ he is no longer a child.” 

Terrible revelation of the inward thought of the poor 
woman on the conduct of her son. 

“ Mother, I assure you he thought only of your suflfer- 
ing and of the wrong he had done you,” said Joseph. 

“ Oh, my God ! let him come back to me, let him 
live, and I will forgive all,” cried the poor mother, to 
whose mind a horrible vision of Philippe dragged dead 
out of the river presented itself. 

Gloomy silence reigned for a short time. The day 


70 


The Two Brothers. 


went by with cruel alternations of hope and fear ; all 
three ran to the window at the least sound, and gave 
way to every sort of conjecture. While the family were 
thus grieving, Philippe was quietly getting matters in 
order at his office. He had the audacity to give in his 
accounts with a statement that, fearing some accident, he 
had retained eleven hundi’ed francs at his own house for 
safe keeping. The scoundrel left the office at five 
o’clock, taking five hundred francs more from the desk, 
and coolly went to a gambling-house ; which he had not 
entered since his connection with the paper, for he knew 
very well that a cashier must not be seen to frequent 
such a place. The fellow was not wanting in acumen. 
His past conduct proved that he derived more from his 
grandfather Rouget than from his virtuous sire, Bridau. 
Perhaps he might have made a good general ; but in 
private life, he was one of those utter scoundrels who shel- 
ter their schemes and their evil actions behind a screen 
of strict legality, and the privacy of the family roof. 

At this conjuncture Philippe maintained his coolness. 
He won at first, and gained as much as six thousand 
francs ; but he let himself be dazzled by the idea of 
getting out of his difficulties at one stroke. He left the 
trente-et-quarante.^ hearing that the black had come up 
sixteen times at the roulette table, and was about to 
put five thousand francs on the red, when the black 
came up for the seventeenth time. The colonel then 
put a thousand francs on the black and won. In spite 
of this remarkable piece of luck, his head grew weary ; 
he felt it, though he continued to play. But that divin- 
ing sense which leads a gambler, and which comes in 
fiashes, was already failing him. Intermittent percep- 
tions, so fatal to all gamblers, set in. Lucidity of 


The Two Brothers, 


71 


mind, like the rays of the sun, can have no effect except 
by the continuity of a direct line ; it can divine only on 
condition of not breaking that line ; the curvettings of 
chance bemuddle it. Philippe lost all. After such a 
strain, the careless mind as well as the bravest weakens. 
When Philippe went home that night he was not thinking 
of suicide, for he had never really meant to kill himself ; 
he no longer thought of his lost place, nor of the sacri- 
ficed security, nor of his mother, nor of Mariette, the 
cause of his ruin; he walked along mechanically. 
When he got home, his mother in tears, Madame Des- 
coings, and Joseph, all fell on his neck and kissed him 
and brought him joyfully to a seat by the fire. 

“ Bless me ! ” thought he, “ the threat has worked.” 

The brute at once assumed an air suitable to the 
occasion ; all the more easily, because his ill-luck at 
cards had deeply depressed him. Seeing her atrocious 
Benjamin so pale and woe-begone, the poor mother 
knelt beside him, kissed his hands, pressed them to her 
heart, and gazed at him for a long time with eyes 
swimming in tears. 

“ Philippe,” she said, in a choking voice, “ promise 
not to kill yourself, and all shall be forgotten.” 

Philippe looked at his sorrowing brother and at 
Madame Descoings, whose eyes were full of tears, and 
thought to himself, “ They are good creatures.” Then 
he took his mother in his arms, raised her and put 
her on his knee, pressed her to his heart and whis- 
pered as he kissed her, “ For the second time, you give 
me life.” 

The Descoings managed to serve an exeellent dinner, 
and to add two bottles of old wine with a little liqueur 
des lies,, a treasure left over from her former business. 


72 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Agathe,” she said at dessert, “we must let him 
smoke his cigars,” and she offered some to Philippe. 

These two poor creatures fancied that if they let the 
fellow take his ease, he would like his home and stay in 
it ; both, therefore, tried to endure his tobacco-smoke, 
though each loathed it. That sacrifice was not so much 
as noticed by Philippe. 

On the morrow, Agathe looked ten years older. Her 
terrors calmed, reflection came back to her, and the 
poor woman had not closed an eye throughout that 
horrible night. She was now reduced to six hundred 
francs a year. Madame Descoings, like all fat women 
fond of good eating, was growing heavy ; her step on 
the staircase sounded like the chopping of logs ; she 
might die at any moment ; with her life, four thousand 
francs would disappear. What folly to rely on that 
resource ! What should she do ? What would become 
of them ? With her mind made up to become a sick- 
nurse rather than be supported by her children, Agathe 
did not think of herself. But Philippe ? what would he 
do if reduced to live on the five hundred francs of an 
officer of the Legion of honor? During the past eleven 
years, Madame Descoings, by giving up three thousand 
francs a year, had paid her debt twice over, but she still 
continued to sacrifice her grandson’s interests to those 
of the Bridau family. Though all Agathe’s honorable 
and upright feelings were shocked by this terrible dis- 
aster, she said to herself : “ Poor boy ! is it his fault? 
He is faithful to his oath. I have done wrong not to 
marry him. If I had found him a wife, he would not 
have got entangled with this danseuse. He has such a 
vigorous constitution — ” 

Madame Descoings had likewise reflected during the 


The Two Brothers. 


73 


night as to the best way of saving the honor of the 
family. At da3’break, she got out of bed and went to 
her friend's room. 

“ Neither ^^ou nor Philippe should manage this deli- 
cate matter,” she said. “Our two old friends Du 
Bruel and Claparon are dead, but we still have Des- 
roches, who is very sagacious. I’ll go and see him 
this morning. He can tell the newspaper people that 
Philippe trusted a friend and has been made a victim ; 
that his weakness in such respects makes him unfit to 
be a cashier ; what has now happened ma^^ happen again, 
and that Philippe prefers to resign. That will prevent 
his being turned off. ” 

Agathe, seeing that this business lie would save the 
honor of her son, at an^^ rate in the eyes of strangers, 
kissed Madame Descoings, who went out earl}^ to make 
an end of the dreadful aflfair. 

Philippe, meanwhile, had slept the sleep of the 
just. “ She is sly, that old woman,” he remarked, 
when his mother explained to him why breakfast was 
late. 

Old Desroches, the last remaining friend of these 
two poor women, who, in spite of his harsh nature, 
never forgot that Bridau had obtained for him his place, 
fulfilled like an accomplished diplomat the delicate mis- 
sion Madame Descoings had confided to him. He came 
to dine that evening with the familj^ and notified Agathe 
that she must go the next da^^ to the Treasuiy, rue 
Vivienne, sign the transfer of the funds involved, and 
obtain a coupon for the six hundred francs a yQox which 
still remained to her. The old clerk did not leave the 
afflicted household that night without obliging Philippe 
to sign a petition to the minister of war, asking for his 


74 


The Two Brothers. 


reinstatement in the active army. Desroches promised 
the two women to follow up the petition at the war oflSce, 
and to profit by the triumph of a certain duke over 
Philippe in the matter of the danseuse^ and so obtain 
that nobleman’s infiuence. 

“ Philippe will be lieutenant-colonel in the Due de 
Maufrigneuse’s regiment within three months,” he de- 
clared, “and you will be rid of him.” 

Desroches went away, smothered with blessings from 
the two poor widows and Joseph. As to the newspaper, 
it ceased to exist at the end of two months, just as 
Finot had predicted. Philippe’s crime had, therefore, 
so far as the world knew, no consequences. But 
Agathe’s motherhood had received a deadly wound. 
Her belief in her son once shaken, she lived in per- 
petual fear, mingled with some satisfactions, as she saw 
her worst apprehensions unrealized. 

When men like Philippe, who are endowed with 
physical courage and yet are cowardly and ignoble in 
their moral being, see matters and things resuming their 
accustomed course about them after some catastrophe in 
which their honor and decency is wellnigh lost, such 
family kindness, or any show of friendliness towards 
them is a premium of encouragement. They count on 
impunity ; their minds distorted, their passions grati- 
fied, only prompt them to study how it happened that 
they succeeded in getting round all social laws; the 
result is they become alarmingly adroit. 

A fortnight later, Philippe, once more a man of 
leisure, lazy and bored, renewed his fatal caf4 life, — his 
drams, his long games of billiards embellished with 
punch, his nightly resort to the gambling-table, where 
he risked some trifling stake and won enough to pay 


The Two Brothers, 


75 


for his dissipations. Apparently very economical, the 
better to deceive his mother and Madame Descoings, he 
wore a hat that was greasy, with the nap rubbed off at the 
edges, patched boots, a shabby overcoat, on which the red 
ribbon scarcely showed so discolored and dirty was it by 
long service at the buttonhole and by the spatterings of 
coffee and liquors. His buckskin gloves, of a greenish 
tinge, lasted him a long while ; and he onlj' gave up his 
satin neckcloth when it was ragged enough to look like 
wadding. Mariette was the sole object of the fellow’s 
love, and her treachery had greatly hardened his heart. 
When he happened to win more than usual, or if he 
supped with his old comrade, Giroudeau, he followed 
some Venus of the slums, with brutal contempt for the 
whole sex. Otherwise regular in his habits, he break- 
fasted and dined at home and came in every night about 
one o’clock. Three months of this horrible life restored 
Agathe to some degree of confidence. 

As for Joseph, who was working at the splendid pict- 
ure to which he afterwards owed his reputation, he lived 
in his atelier. On the prediction of her grandson Bixiou, 
Madame Descoings believed in Joseph’s future glory, 
and she showed him every sort of motherly kindness ; 
she took his breakfast to him, she did his errands, she 
blacked his boots. The painter was never seen till 
dinner-time, and his evenings were spent at the Cenacle 
among his friends. He read a great deal, and gave 
himself that deep and serious education which only 
comes through the mind itself, and which all men of 
talent strive after between the ages of twenty and thirty. 
Agathe, seeing very little of Joseph, and feeling no un- 
easiness about him, lived only for Philippe, who gave her 
the alternations of fears excited and terrors allayed, 


76 


The Two Brothers. 


which seem the life, as it were, of sentiment, and to be 
as necessary to maternity as to love. Desroches, who 
came once a week to see the widow of his patron and 
friend, gave her hopes. The Due de Maufrigneuse had 
asked to have Philippe in his regiment ; the minister of 
war had ordered an inquiry ; and as the name of Bridau 
did not appear on any police list, nor on any record at 
the Palais de Justice, Philippe would be reinstated in 
the army early in the coming year. • 

To arrive at this result, Desroches set all the powers 
that he could influence in motion. At the prefecture of 
police he learned that Philippe spent his evenings in a 
gambling-house ; and he thought it best to tell this fact 
privately to Madame Descoings, exhorting her keep an 
eye on the lieutenant-colonel, for one outbreak would 
imperil all ; as it was, the minister of war was not likely 
to inquire whether Philippe gambled. Once restored to 
his rank under the flag of his country, he would perhaps 
abandon a vice only taken up from idleness. Agathe, 
who no longer received her friends in the evening, sat 
in the chimney-corner reading her prayers, while 
Madame Descoings consulted the cards, interpreted her 
dreams, and applied the rules of the “ cabala” to her 
lottery ventures. This jovial fanatic never missed a 
single drawing; she still pursued her trey, — which 
never turned up. It was nearly twenty-one years old, 
just approaching its majority ; on this ridiculous idea 
the old woman now pinned her faith. One of its three 
numbers had stayed at the bottom of all the wheels ever 
since the institution of the lottery. Accordingly, Ma- 
dame Descoings laid heavy stakes on that particular 
number, as well as on all the combinations of the three 
numbers. The last mattress remaining to her bed was 


The Two Brothers, 


77 


the place where she stored her savings ; she unsewed 
the ticking, put in from time to time the bit of gold 
saved from her needs, wrapped carefully in wool, and 
then sewed the mattress up again. She intended, at 
the last drawing, to risk all her savings on the different 
combinations of her treasured tre3^ 

This passion, so universally condemned, has never 
been fairly studied. No one has understood this opium 
of poverty. The lottery, all-powerful fairy of the poor, 
bestowed the gift of magic hopes. The turn of the wheel 
which opens to the gambler a vista of gold and happi- 
ness, lasts no longer than a flash of lightning, but the 
lottery gave five days* existence to that magnificent 
flash. What social power can to-da}’^, for the sum of 
five sous, give us five da^^s’ happiness and launch us 
ideally into all the joys of civilization? Tobacco, a 
craving far more immoral than play, destroys the bod^", 
attacks the mind, and stupefies a nation ; while the lottery 
did nothing of the kind. This passion, moreover, was 
forced to keep within limits by the long periods that 
occurred between the drawings, and by the choice of 
wheels which each investor individually clung to. 
Madame Descoings never staked on any but the “ wheel 
of Paris.” Full of confidence that the trey cherished 
for twenty-one years was about to triumph, she now 
imposed upon herself enormous privations, that she 
might stake a large amount of savings upon the last 
drawing of the year. When she dreamed her cabalistic 
visions (for all dreams did not correspond with the 
numbers of the lottery), she went and told them to 
Joseph, who was the sole being who would listen, and 
not only not scold her, but give her the kindly words 
with which an artist knows how to soothe the follies of 


78 


The Two Brothers, 


the mind. All great talents respect and understand a 
real passion ; they explain it to themselves by finding 
the roots of it in their own hearts or minds. Joseph’s 
idea was, that his brother loved tobacco and liquors, 
Maman Descoings loved her trey, his mother loved 
God, Desroches the younger loved lawsuits, Desroches 
the elder loved angling, — in short, all the world, he 
said, loved something. He himself loved the beau ideal 
in all things ; he loved the poetry of Lord B3Ton, the 
painting of Gericault, the music of Rossini, the novels 
of Walter Scott. “ Every one to his taste, maman,” 
he would say ; “ but j^our tre^r does hang fire terribly.” 

“It will turn up, and 3’ou will be rich, and my little 
Bixiou as well.” 

“ Give it all to your grandson,” cried Joseph ; “ at 
any rate, do what you like best with it.” 

‘ ‘ He}" ! when it turns up I shall have enough for 
everybod3\ In the first place, 3"ou shall have a fine 
atelier; you sha’n’t deprive ^^ourself of going to the 
opera so as to pa^’ for j^our models and 3"Our colors. 
Do 3"ou know, my dear boy, you make me play a pretty 
shabby part in that picture of 3"ours ? ” 

By wa3" of economy, Joseph had made the Descoings 
pose for his magnificent picture of a young courtesan 
taken b3^ an old woman to a Doge of Venice. This 
picture, one of the masterpieces of modern painting, 
was mistaken by Gros himself for a Titian, and it paved 
the way for the , recognition which the younger artists 
gave to Joseph’s talent in the Salon of 1823 . 

“Those who know you know very well what 3"ou 
are,” he answered gayty. “Why need 3"Ou trouble 
yourself about those who don’t know you?” 

For the last ten years Madame Descoings had taken 


The Two Brothers. 


79 


on the ripe tints of a russet apple at Easter. Wrinkles 
had formed in her superabundant flesh, now grown pal- 
lid and flabby. Her ej'^es, full of life, were bright with 
thoughts that were still young and vivacious, and might 
be considered grasping ; for there is always something 
of that spirit in a gambler. Her fat face bore traces of 
dissimulation and of the mental reservations hidden in 
the depths of her heart. Her vice necessitated secresy. 
There were also indications of gluttony in the motion 
of her lips. And thus, although she was, as we have 
seen, an excellent and upright woman, the eye might 
be misled by her appearance. She was an admirable 
model for the old woman Joseph wished to paint. Co- 
ralie, a young actress of exquisite beauty who died in 
the flower of her youth, the mistress of Lucien de Ru- 
bempr^, one of Joseph’s friends, had given him the idea 
of the picture. This noble painting has been called a 
plagiarism of other pictures, while in fact it was a splen- 
did arrangement of three portraits. Michel Chrestien, 
one of his companions at the Cenacle, lent his republi- 
can head for the senator, to which Joseph added a few 
mature tints, just as he exaggerated the expression of 
Madame Descoings’s features. This flne picture, which 
was destined to make a great noise and bring the art- 
ist much hatred, jealousy, and admiration, was just 
sketched out ; but, compelled as he was to work for a 
living, he laid it aside to make copies of the old masters 
for the dealers ; thus he penetrated the secret of their 
processes, and his brush is therefore one of the best 
trained of the modern school. The shrewd sense of an 
artist led him to conceal the profits he was beginning to 
lay by from his mother and Madame Descoings, aware 
tliat each had her road to ruin, — the one in Philippe, 


80 - 


The Two Brothers, 


the other in the lottery. This astuteness is seldom 
wanting among painters ; busy for days together in the 
solitude of their studios, engaged in work which, up to 
a certain point, leaves the mind free, they are in some 
respects like women, — their thoughts turn about the 
little events of life, and they contrive .to get at their 
hidden meaning. 

Joseph had bought one of those magnificent chests 
or coffers of a past age, then ignored by fashion, with 
which he decorated a corner of his studio, where the light 
danced upon the bas-reliefs and gave full lustre to a 
masterpiece of the sixteenth century artisans. He saw 
the necessity for a hiding-place, and in this coffer he had 
begun to accumulate a little store of money. With an 
artist’s carelessness, he was in the habit of putting the 
sum he allowed for his monthly expenses in a skull, 
which stood on one of the compartments of the coffer. 
Since his brother had returned to live at home, he found 
a constant discrepancy between the amount he spent 
and the sum in this receptacle. The hundred francs a 
month disappeared with incredible celerity. Finding 
nothing one day, when he had only spent forty to fifty 
francs, he remarked for the first time: “My money 
must have got wings.” The next month he paid more 
attention to his accounts ; but add as he might, like 
Robert Macaire, sixteen and five are twenty- three, 
he could make nothing of them. When, for the third 
time, he found a still more important discrepancy, he 
communicated the painful fact to Madame Descoings, 
who loved him, he knew, with that maternal, tender, 
confiding, credulous, enthusiastic love that he had never 
had from his own mother, good as she was, — a love as 
necessary to the early life of an artist as the care of the 


The Two Brothers, 


81 


hen is to her unfledged chickens. To her alone could 
he confide his horrible suspicions. He was as sure of 
his friends as he was of himself ; and the Descoings, he 
knew, would take nothing to put in her lottery. At the 
idea which then suggested itself the poor woman wrung 
her hands. Philippe alone could have committed this 
domestic theft. 

“Why did n’t he ask me, if he wanted it?” cried Jo- 
seph, taking a dab of color on his palette and stirring it 
into the other colors without seeing what he did. “ Is 
it likely I should refuse him ? ” 

“It is robbing a child ! ” cried the Descoings, her 
face expressing the deepest disgust. 

“ No,” replied Joseph, “ he is my brother ; my purse 
is his : but he ought to have asked me.” 

“Put in a special sum, in silver, this morning, and 
don’t take anything out,” said Madame Descoings. “I 
shall know who goes into the studio ; and if he is the 
only one, you will be certain it is he.” 

The next day Joseph had proof of his brother’s forced 
loans upon him. Philippe came to the studio when his 
brother was out and took the little sum he wanted. 
The artist trembled for his hidden savings. 

“ I ’ll catch him at it, the scamp ! ” he said, laughing, 
to Madame Descoings. 

“ And you ’ll do right : we ought to break him of it. 
I, too, I have missed little sums out of my purse. Poor 
bo}^ ! he wants tobacco ; he ’s accustomed to it.” 

“Poor boy! poor boy!” cried the artist. “I’m 
rather of Fulgence and Bixiou’s opinion : Philippe is a 
dead-weight on us. He runs his head into riots and 
has to be shipped to America, and that costs the mother 
twelve thousand francs ; he can’t find anything to do in 

() 


82 


The Two Brothers, 


the forests of the New World, and so he comes back 
again, and that costs twelve thousand more^ Under 
pretence of having carried two words of Napoleon to a 
general, he thinks himself a great soldier and makes 
faces at the Bourbons ; meantime, what does he do ? 
amuse himself, travel about, see foreign countries ! As 
for me, I ’m not duped by his misfortunes ; he does n’t 
look like a man who fails to get the best of things ! 
Somebody finds him a good place, and there he is, lead- 
ing the life of a Sardanapalus with a ballet-girl, and 
guzzling the funds of his journal ; that costs the mother 
another twelve thousand francs ! I don’t care two 
straws for myself, but Philippe will bring that poor 
woman to beggary. He thinks I ’m of no account be- 
cause I was never in the dragoons of the Guard ; but 
perhaps I shall be the one to support that poor dear 
mother in her old age, while he, if he goes on as he 
does, will end I don’t know how. Bixiou often saj^s to 
me, ‘ He is a downright rogue, that brother of yours.’ 
Your grandson is right. Philippe will be up to some 
mischief that will compromise the honor of the family, 
and then we shall have to scrape up another ten or 
twelve thousand francs ! He gambles ever}^ night ; 
when he comes home, drunk as a templar, he drops 
on the staircase the pricked cards on which he marks 
the turns of the red and black. Old Desroches is try- 
ing to get him back into the army, and, on my word of 
honor, I believe he would hate to serve again. Would 
you ever have believed that a boy with such heavenly 
blue eyes and the look of Bayard could turn out such a 
scoundrel ? ” 


The Two Brothers, 


83 


V. 

In spite of the coolness and discretion with which 
Philippe played his trifling game every night, it hap- 
pened every now and then that he was what gamblers 
call ‘^cleaned out.” Driven by the irresistible necessity 
of having his evening stake of ten francs, he plundered 
the household, and laid hands on his brother’s money 
and on all that Madame Descoings or Agathe left about. 
Already the poor mother had had a dreadful vision in 
her flrst sleep : Philippe entered the room and took 
from the pockets of her gown all the monej^ he could 
find. Agathe pretended to sleep, but she passed the 
rest of the night in tears. She saw the truth only too 
clearly. “ One wrong act is not vice,” Madame Des- 
coings had declared ; but after so many repetitions, vice 
was unmistakable. Agathe could doubt no longer ; her 
best-beloved son had neither delicacy nor honor. 

On the morrow of that frightful vision, before Philippe 
left the house after breakfast, she drew him into her 
chamber and begged him, in a tone of entreaty, to ask 
her for what mone}" he needed. After that, the appli- 
cations were so numerous that in two weeks Agathe 
was drained of all her savings. She was literally with- 
out a penny, and began to think of finding work. The 
means of earning money had been discussed in the 
evenings between herself and Madame Descoings, and 
she had already taken patterns of worsted work to 
fill in, from a shop called the “■ Pere de Famille,” — an 


84 


The Two Brothers, 


employment which pays about twentj^ sous a day. Not- 
withstanding Agathe’s silence on the subject, Madame 
Descoings had guessed the motive of this desire to earn 
money by women’s-work. The change in her appear- 
ance was eloquent : her fresh face had withered, the skin 
clung to the temples and the cheek-bones, and the fore- 
head showed deep lines ; her eyes lost their clearness ; 
an inward fire was evidently consuming her ; she wept 
the greater part of the night. A chief cause of these 
outward ravages was the necessit}^ of hiding her an- 
guish, her sufferings, her apprehensions. She never 
went to sleep until Philippe came in ; she listened for 
his step, she had learned the infiections of his voice, the 
variations of his walk, the very language of his cane as 
it touched the pavement. Nothing escaped her. She 
knew the degree of drunkenness he had reached, she 
trembled as she heard him stumble on the stairs ; one 
night she picked up some pieces of gold at the spot where 
he had fallen. When he had drunk and won, his voice 
was gruff and his cane dragged ; but when he had lost, 
his step had something sharp, short, and angry about 
it ; he hummed in a clear voice, and carried his cane in 
the air as if presenting arms. At breakfast, if he had 
won, his behavior was gay and even affectionate ; he Joked 
roughly, but still he joked, with Madame Descoings, 
with Joseph, and with his mother ; gloomy, on the con- 
trary, when he had lost, his brusque, rough speech, his 
hard glance, and his depression, frightened them. A 
life of debauch and the abuse of liquors debased, day by 
day, a countenance that was once so handsome. The 
veins of the face were swollen with blood, the features 
became coarse, the eyes lost their lashes and grew hard 
and dry. No longer careful of his person, Philippe 


The Two Brothers, 


85 


exhaled the miasmas of a tavern and the smell of 
mudd}^ boots, which, to an observer, stamped him with 
debauchery. 

“You ought,” said Madame Descoings to Philippe 
during the last days of December, “you ought to get 
yourself new-clothed from head to foot.” 

“And who is to pay for it?” he answered sharply. 
“ My poor mother has n’t a sou ; and I have five hun- 
dred francs a year. It would take my whole year’s pen- 
sion to pay for the clothes ; besides I have mortgaged 
it for three years — ” 

“ What for ? ” asked Joseph. 

‘‘ A debt of honor. Giroudeau borrowed a thousand 
francs from Florentine to lend me. lam not gorgeous, 
that’s a fact ; but when one thinks that Napoleon is at 
Saint Helena, and has sold his plate for the means of 
living, his faithful soldiers can manage to walk upon 
their bare feet,” he said, showing his boots without 
heels, as he marched away. 

“ He is not bad,” said Agathe, “ he has good feel- 
ings.” 

‘^You can love the Emperor and yet dress yourself 
properl}",” said Joseph. “ If he would take any care 
of himself and his clothes, he would n’t look so like a 
vagabond.” 

“Joseph! you ought to have some indulgence for 
your brother,” cried Agathe. “ You do the things you 
like, while he is certainly not in his right place.” 

“What did he leave it for?” demanded Joseph. 
What can it matter to him whether Louis the Eigh- 
teenth’s bugs or Napoleon’s cuckoos are on the flag, if 
it is the flag of his country ? France is France ! For 
my part, I ’d paint for the devil. A soldier ought to 


The Two Brothers. 


fight, if he is a soldier, for the love of his art. If he 
had stayed quietly in the army, he would have been a 
general by this time.” 

“You are unjust to him,” said Agathe, “j^our father, 
who adored the Emperor, would have approved of his 
conduct. However, he has consented to re-enter the 
army. God knows the grief it has caused your brother 
to do a thing he considers treachery.” 

Joseph rose to return to his studio, but his mother 
took his hand and said : — 

“ Be good to your brother ; he is so unfortunate.” 

When the artist got back to his painting-room, fol- 
lowed by Madame Descoings, who begged him to hu- 
mor his mother’s feelings, and pointed out to him how 
changed she was, and what inward suffering the change 
revealed, they found Philippe there, to their great 
amazement. 

“Joseph, my boy,” he said, in an off-hand way, “ I 
want some money. Confound it ! I owe thirty francs 
for cigars at my tobacconist’s, and I dare not pass the 
cursed shop till I ’ve paid it. I ’ve promised to pay it 
a dozen times.” 

“Well, I like your present way best,” said Joseph; 
“ take what you want out of the skull.” 

“I took all there was last night, after dinner.” 

“ There was forty-five francs.” 

“ Yes, that’s what I made it,” replied Philippe. “ I 
took them ; is there any objection? ” 

“No, my friend, no,” said Joseph. “If you were 
rich, I should do the same by you ; only, before taking 
what I wanted, I should ask you if it w^e convenient.” 

“ It is very humiliating to ask,” remarked Philippe ; 
“I would rather see you taking as I do, without a 


The Two Brothers. 


87 


word ; it shows more confidence. In the army, if a 
comrade dies, and has a good pair of hoots, and you 
have a bad pair, you change, that ’s all.” 

“Yes, but you don’t take them while he is living.” 

“ Oh, what meanness ! ” said Philippe, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ Well, so you have n’t got any money ? ” 

“ No,” said Joseph, who was determined not to show 
his hiding-place. 

“In a few days we shall be rich,” said Madame 
Descoings. 

“ Yes, you ; you think your trey is going to turn up 
on the 25th at the Paris drawing. You must have put 
in a fine stake if you think you can make us all rich.” 

“A paid-up trey of two hundred francs will give 
three millions, without counting the couplets and the 
singles.” 

“At fifteen thousand times the stake — yes, you are 
right ; it is just two hundred you must pay up ! ” cried 
Philippe. 

Madame Descoings bit her lips ; she knew she had 
spoken imprudently. In fact, Philippe was asking him- 
self as he went downstairs : — 

“ That old witch ! where does she keep her money? 
It is as good as lost ; I can make a better use of it. 
With four pools at fifty francs each, I could win two 
hundred thousand francs, and that’s much surer than 
the turning up of a trey.” 

He tried to think where the old woman was likely to 
have hid the money. On the days preceding festivals, 
Agathe went to church and stayed there a long time ; 
no doubt she confessed and prepared for the commu- 
nion. It was now the day before Christmas ; Madame 
Descoings would certainly go out to buy some dainties 


88 


The Two Brothers, 


for the reveillon^ the midnight meal ; and she might 
also take occasion to pay up her stake. The lottery 
was drawn every five days in different localities, at 
Bordeaux, L^^ons, Lille, Strasburg, and Paris. The Paris 
lottery was drawn on the twenty-fifth of each month, 
and the lists closed on the twenty-fourth, at midnight. 
Philippe studied all these points and set himself to 
watch. He came home at midday ; the Descoings had 
gone out, and had taken the key of the appartement. 
But that was no difficulty. Philippe pretended to have 
forgotten something, and asked the concierge to go her- 
self and get a locksmith, who lived close by, and who 
came at once and opened the door. The villain’s first 
thought was the bed ; he uncovered it, passed his hands 
over the mattress before he examined the bedstead, and 
at the lower end felt the pieces wrapped up in paper. 
He at once ripped the ticking, picked out twenty na- 
poleons, and then, without taking time to sew up the 
mattress, re-made the bed neatly enough, so that Ma- 
dame Descoings could suspect nothing. 

The gambler stole oflT with a light foot, resolving to 
iday at three different times, three hours apart, and 
each time for only ten minutes. Thorough-going play- 
ers, ever since 1786, the time at which public gaming- 
houses were established, — the true players whom the 
government dreaded, and who ate up, to use a gambling 
term, the money of the bank, — never played in any other 
way. But before attaining this measure of experience 
they lost fortunes. The whole science of gambling- 
houses and their gains rests upon three things : the 
impassibility of the bank ; the even results called 
“drawn games,” when half the money goes to the 
bank ; and the notorious bad faith authorized by the 


The Two Brothers. 


89 


government, in refusing to hold or pay the player’s 
stakes except optionally. In a word, the gambling- 
house, which refuses the game of a rich and cool player, 
devours the fortune of the foolish and obstinate one, 
who is carried away by the rapid movement of the 
machinery of the game. The croupiers at trente et 
quarante move nearly as fast as the ball. 

Philippe had ended by acquiring the sang-froid of a 
commanding general, which enables him to keep his 
eye clear and his mind prompt in the midst of tumult. 
He had reached that statesmanship of gambling which 
in Paris, let us say in passing, is the livelihood of thou- 
sands who are strong enough to look every night into 
an abyss without getting a vertigo. With his four 
hundred francs, Philippe resolved to make his fortune 
that day. He put aside, in his boots, two hundred 
francs, and kept the other two hundred in his pocket. 
At three o’clock he went to the gambling-house (which 
is now turned into the theatre of the Palais-Royal), 
where the bank accepted the largest sums. He came 
out half an hour later with seven thousand francs in his 
pocket. Then he went to see Florentine, paid the five 
hundred francs which he owed to her, and proposed a 
supper at the Rocher de Cancale after the theatre. 
Returning to his game, along the rue de Sentier, he 
stopped at Giroudeau’s newspaper-office to notify him 
of the gala. By six o’clock Philippe had won twenty- 
five thousand francs, and stopped playing at the end of 
ten minutes as he had promised himself to do. That 
night, by ten o’clock, he had won seventy-five thou- 
sand francs. After the supper, which was magnificent, 
Philippe, by that time drunk and confident, went back 
to his play at midnight. In defiance of the rule he 


90 


The Two Brothers. 


had imposed upon himself, he played for an hour and 
doubled his fortune. The bankers, from whom, by his 
system of playing, he had extracted one hundred and 
fifty thousand francs, looked at him with curiosity. 

“Will he go away now, or will he stay?” they said 
to each other by a glance. “ If he stays he is lost.” 

Philippe thought he had struck a vein of luck, and 
stayed. Towards three in the morning, the hundred 
and fifty thousand francs had gone back to the bank. 
The colonel, who had imbibed a considerable quantity 
of grog while playing, left the place in a drunken 
state, which the cold of the outer air only increased. 
A waiter from the gambling-house followed him, picked 
him up, and took him to one of those horrible houses at 
the door of which, on a hanging lamp, are the words : 
“Lodgings for the night.” The waiter paid for the 
ruined gambler, who was put to bed, where he remained 
till Christmas night. The managers of gambling-houses 
have some consideration for their customers, especially 
for high players. Philippe woke about seven o’clock in 
the evening, his mouth parched, his face swollen, and he 
himself in the grip of a nervous fever. The strength of 
his constitution enabled him to get home on foot, where 
meanwhile he had, without willing it, brought mourning, 
desolation, poverty, and death. 

The evening before, when dinner was ready, Madame 
Descoings and Agathe expected Philippe. They waited 
dinner till seven o’clock. Agathe always went to bed 
at ten ; but as, on this occasion, she wished to be pres- 
ent at the midnight mass, she went to lie down as soon 
as dinner was over. Madame Descoings and Joseph 
remained alone by the fire in the little salon, which 
served for all, and the o^d woman asked the painter to 


The Two Brothers. 


91 


add up the amount of her great stake, her monstrous 
stake, on the famous trey, which she was to pay that 
evening at the Lottery office. She wished to put in for 
the doubles and singles as well, so as to seize all chances. 
After feasting on the poetry of her hopes, and pouring 
the two horns of plenty at the feet of her adopted son, 
and relating to him her dreams which demonstrated the 
certainty of success, she felt no other uneasiness than 
the difficulty of bearing such joy, and waiting from mid- 
night until ten o’clock of the morrow, when the winning 
numbers were declared. Joseph, who saw nothing of the 
four hundred francs necessary to pay up the stakes, asked 
about them. The old woman smiled, and led him into 
the former salon, which was now her bed-chamber. 

“ You shall see,” she said. 

Madame Descoings hastily unmade the bed, and 
searched for her scissors to rip the mattress ; she put on 
her spectacles, looked at the ticking, saw the hole, and 
let fall the mattress. Hearing a sigh from the depths 
of the old woman’s breast, as though she were strangled 
with a rush of blood to the heart, Joseph instinctively 
held out his arms to catch the poor creature, and placed 
her fainting in a chair, calling to his mother to come to 
them. Agathe rose, slipped on her dressing-gown, and 
ran in. By the light of a candle, she applied the ordi- 
nary remedies, — eau-de-cologne to the temples, cold 
water to the forehead, a burnt feather under the nose, 
— and presently her aunt revived. 

“ They were there this morning ; he has taken them, 
the monster ! ” she said. 

“ Taken what?” asked Joseph. 

“ I had twenty louis in my mattress ; my savings for 
two years ; no one but Philippe could have taken them.” 


92 


The Two Brothers, 


“But when?” cried the poor mother, overwhelmed, 
“ he has not been in since breakfast.” 

“ I wish I might be mistaken,” said the old woman.. 
“But this morning in Joseph’s studio, when I spoke 
before Philippe of my stakes, I had a presentiment. I 
did wrong not to go down and take my little all and 
pay for my stakes at once. I meant to, and I don’t 
know what prevented me. Oh, yes ! — my God ! I 
went out to buy him some cigars.” 

“ But,” said Joseph, “ you left the door locked. Be- 
sides, it is so infamous, I can’t beheve it. Philippe 
could n’t have watched 3^ou, cut open the mattress, done 
it deliberately, — no, no ! ” 

“ I felt them this morning, when I made my bed after 
breakfast,” repeated Madame Descoings. 

Agathe, horrified, went down stairs and asked if 
Philippe had come in during the day. The concierge 
related the tale of his return and the locksmith. The 
mother, heart-stricken, went back a changed woman. 
White as the linen of her chemise, she walked as we 
might fancy a spectre walks, slowly, noiselessly, moved 
b}^ some superhuman power, and 3^et mechanicall}". 
She held a candle in her hand, whose light fell full 
upon her face and showed her e^res, fixed with horror. 
Unconsciously, her hands b^" a desperate movement 
had dishevelled the hair about her brow ; and this made 
her so beautiful with anguish that Joseph stood rooted 
in awe at the apparition of that remorse, the vision of 
that statue of terror and despair. 

“My aunt,” she said, “take my silver forks and 
spoons, I have enough to make up the sum ; I took your 
money for Philippe’s sake ; I thought I could put it back 
before ^^ou missed it. Oh ! I have suffered much.” 


The Two Brothers. 


93 


She sat down. Her dry, fixed eyes wandered a 
little 

“ It was he who did it,” whispered the old woman to 
Joseph. 

“ No, no,” cried Agathe ; “ take my silver plate, sell 
it ; it is useless to me ; we can eat with yours.” 

She went to her room, took the box which contained 
the plate, felt its light weight, opened it, and saw a 
pawnbroker’s ticket. The poor mother uttered a 
dreadful cry. Joseph and the Descoings ran to her, 
saw the empty box, and her noble falsehood was of no 
avail. All three were silent, and avoided looking at 
each other ; but the next moment, by an almost frantic 
gesture, Agathe laid her finger on her lips as if to en- 
treat a secrecy no one desired to break. They returned 
to the salon, and sat beside the fire. 

“ Ah ! my children,” cried Madame Descoings, “lam 
stabbed to the heart : my trey will turn up, I am cer- 
tain of it. I am not thinking of myself, but of you 
two. Philippe is a monster,” she continued, addressing 
her niece “ he does not lOve you after all that you have 
done for him. If 3"Ou do not protect yourself against 
him he will bring you to beggary". Promise me to sell 
out your Funds and buy a life-annuity. Joseph has a 
good profession and he can live. If j^ou will do this, 
dear Agathe, you will never be an expense to Joseph. 
Monsieur Desroches has just started his son as a notary ; 
he would take your twelve thousand francs and pay you 
an annuity.” 

Joseph seized his mother’s candlestick, rushed up to 
his studio, and came down with three hundred francs. 

“ Here, Maman Descoings ! ” he cried, giving her his 
little store, “ it is no business of ours what j’ou do with 


94 


The Two Brothers, 


your money ; we owe you what you have lost, and here 
it is, almost in full.’’ 

“ Take your poor little all? — the fruit of those priva- 
tions that have made me so unhappy! are you mad, 
Joseph ? ” cried the old woman, visibly torn between her 
dogged faith in the coming trey, and the sacrilege of 
accepting such a sacrifice. 

“Oh! take it if j^ou like,” said Agathe, who was 
moved to tears by this action of her true son. 

Madame Descoings took Joseph by the head, and 
kissed him on the forehead : — 

“ My child,” she said, “ don’t tempt me. I might only 
lose it. The lottery, you see, is all folly.” 

No more heroic words were ever uttered in the hidden 
dramas of domestic life. It was, indeed, aflfection 
triumphant over inveterate vice. At this instant, the 
clocks struck midnight. 

“ It is too late now,” said Madame Descoings. 

“Oh!” cried Joseph, “here are your cabalistic 
numbers.” 

The artist sprang at the paper, and rushed headlong 
down the staircase to pay the stakes. When he was no 
longer present, Agathe and Madame Descoings burst 
into tears. 

“ He has gone, the dear love,” cried the old gambler ; 
“ but it shall all be his ; he pays his own money.” 

Unhappily, Joseph did not know the way to any of the 
lottery-offices, which in those days were as well known 
to most people as the cigarshops to a smoker in ours. 
The painter ran along, reading the street names upon 
the lamps. When he asked the passers-by to show 
him a lottery - office, he was told they were all closed, 
except the one under the portico of the Palais-Iloyal 


The Two Brothers, 


05 


which was sometimes kept open a little later. He flew 
to the Palais-Royal : the office was shut. 

“ Two minutes earlier, and you might have paid your 
stake,” said one of the vendors of tickets, whose beat 
was under the portico, where he vociferated this singu- 
lar cry: “Twelve hundred francs for forty sous,” 
and oflered tickets all paid up. 

By the glimmer of the street-lamp and the lights of 
the cafe de la Rotonde, Joseph examined these tickets 
to see if, by chance, any of them bore the Descoings’s 
numbers. He found none, and returned home grieved 
at having done his best in vain for the old woman, to 
whom he related his ill-luck. Agathe and her aunt 
went together to the midnight mass at Saint-Germain- 
des-Pres. Joseph went to bed. The collation did not 
take place. Madame Descoings had lost her head; 
and in Agathe's heart was eternal mourning. 

The two rose late on Christmas morning. Ten 
o’clock had struck before Madame Descoings began to 
bestir herself about the breakfast, which was only ready 
at half-past eleven. At that hour, the oblong frames 
containing the winning numbers are hung over the doors 
of the lottery-offices. If Madame Descoings had paid 
her stake and held her ticket, she would have gone by 
half-past nine o’clock to learn her fate at a building 
close to the ministry of Finance, in the rue Neuve-des- 
Petits Champs, a situation now occupied by the Thefltre 
Ventadour in the place of the same name. On the 
days when the drawings took place, an observer might 
watch with curiosity the crowd of old women, cooks, 
and old men assembled about the door of this build- 
ing ; a sight as remarkable as the cue of people about 
the Treasurj^ on the daj^s when the dividends are paid. 


96 


The Two Brothers. 


“Well, here you are, rolling in wealth!” said old 
Desroches, coming into the room just as the Descoings 
was swallowing her last drop of coffee. 

“ What do you mean? ” cried poor Agathe. 

“ Her trey has turned up,” he said, producing the 
list of numbers written on a bit of paper, such as the 
officials of the lottery put by hundreds in little wooden 
bowls on their counters. 

Joseph read the list. Agathe read the list. The 
Descoings read nothing ; she was struck down as by a 
thunderbolt. At the change in her face, at the cry she 
gave, old Desroches and Joseph carried her to her bed. 
Agathe went for a doctor. The poor woman was 
seized with apoplexy, and she only recovered con- 
sciousness at four in the afternoon ; old Haudry, her 
doctor, then said that, in spite of this improvement, she 
ought to settle her worldly affairs and think of her 
salvation. She herself only uttered two words : — 

“ Three millions ! ” 

Old Desroches, informed by Joseph, with due reser- 
vations, of the state of things, related many instances 
where lottery-players had seen a fortune escape them 
on the very day when, by some fatality, they had 
forgotten to pay their stakes ; but he thoroughly under- 
stood that such a blow might be fatal when it came 
after twenty years’ perseverance. About five o’clock, 
as a deep silence reigned in the little appartement, and 
the sick woman, watched by Joseph and his mother, the 
one sitting at the foot, the other at the head of her bed, 
was expecting her grandson Bixiou, whom Desroches had 
gone to fetch, the sound of Philippe’s step and cane 
resounded on the staircase. 

“There he is! there he is!” cried the Descoings, 


The Two Brothers. 


97 


sitting up in bed, and suddenly able to use her para- 
lyzed tongue. 

Agathe and Joseph were deeply impressed by this 
powerful effect of the horror which violently agitated 
the old woman. Their painful suspense was soon ended 
by the sight of Philippe’s convulsed and purple face, 
his staggering walk, and the horrible state of his eyes, 
which were deeply sunken, dull, and yet haggard ; he 
had a strong chill upon him, and his teeth chattered. 

“Starvation in Prussia!” he cried, looking about 
him. “ Nothing to eat or drink? — and my throat on 
fire! Well, what’s the matter? The devil is always 
meddling in our affairs. There ’s my old Descoings in 
bed, looking at me with her eyes as big as saucers.” 

“Be silent, monsieur!” said Agathe, rising. “At 
least, respect the sorrows you have caused.” 

'''‘Monsieur., indeed!” he cried, looking at his 
mother. “ My dear little mother, that won’t do. 
Have you ceased to love your son?” 

“ Are you worthy of love? Have you forgotten what 
you did yesterday ? Go and find yourself another home ; 
you cannot live with us any longer, — that is, after 
to-morrow,” she added ; “for in the state you are in 
now it is difficult — ” 

“To turn me out, — is that it?” he interrupted. 
“Ha! are you going to play the melodrama of ‘The 
Banished Son’? Well done! is that how you take 
things? You are all a pretty set ! What harm have I 
done? I’ve cleaned out the old woman’s mattress. 
What the devil is the good of money kept in wool? 
Do 3"ou call that a crime ? Did n’t she take twenty thou- 
sand francs from you? We are her creditors, and I ’ve 
paid myself as much as I could get, — that ’s all.” 

7 


98 


The Two Brothers. 


“My God! my God ! ” cried the dying woman, 
clasping her hands and praying. 

“Be silent!” exclaimed Joseph, springing at his 
brother and putting his hand before his mouth. 

“To the right about, march! brat of a painter!” 
retorted Philippe, laying his strong hand on Joseph’s 
head, and twirling him round, as he flung him on a 
sofa. “Don’t dare to touch the moustache of a 
commander of a squadron of the dragoons of the 
Guard ! ” 

“ She has paid me back all that she owed me,” 
cried Agathe, rising and turning an angry face to her 
son ; “ and besides, that is my affair. You have killed 
her. Go away, my son,” she added, with a gesture that 
took all her remaining strength, “ and never let me see 
you again. You are a monster.” 

“I kill her?” 

“ Her trey has turned up,” cried Joseph, “ and you 
stole the money for her stake.” 

“ Well, if she is djing of a lost trey, it is n’t I who 
have killed her,” said the drunkard. 

“ Go, go ! ” said Agathe. “You fill me with horror ; 
you have every vice. My God ! is this my son ? ” 

A hollow rattle sounded in Madame Descoings’s 
throat, increasing Agathe’ s anger. 

“I love you still, my mother, — you who are the 
cause of all my misfortunes,” said Philippe. “ You 
turn me out of doors on Christmas-day. What did 
you do to grandpapa Rouget, to your father, that he 
should drive you away and disinherit you? If you had 
not displeased him, we should all be rich now, and I 
should not be reduced to misery. What did you do to 
your father, — you who are a good woman? You see 


The Two Brothers, 


99 


by your own self, I may be a good fellow and yet be 
turned out of house and home, — I, the glory of the 
family — ” 

“ The disgrace of it ! ” cried the Descoingsl 

“ You shall leave this room, or you shall kill me ! ” 
cried Joseph, springing on his brother with the fury of 
a lion. 

“My God! my God!” cried Agathe, tr^dng to 
separate the brothers. 

At this moment Bixiou and Haudry the doctor en- 
tered. Joseph had just knocked his brother over and 
stretched him on the ground. 

“ He is a regular wild beast,” he cried. “ Don’t 
speak another word, or I’ll — ” 

“I’ll pay you for this ! ” roared Philippe. 

“ A family explanation,” remarked Bixiou. 

“ Lift him up,” said the doctor, looking at him. 
“ He is as ill as Madame Descoings ; undress him and 
put him to bed ; get off his boots.” 

“That’s easy to say,” cried Bixiou, “but they 
must be cut off; his legs are swollen.” 

Agathe took a pair of scissors. When she had cut 
down the boots, which in those days were worn outside 
the clinging trousers, ten pieces of gold rolled on the 
floor. 

“There it is, — her money,” murmured Philippe. 
“ Cursed fool that I was, I forgot it. I too have 
missed a fortune.” 

He was seized with a horrible delirium of fever, and 
began to rave. Joseph, assisted by old Desroches, 
who had come back, and by Bixiou, carried him to his 
room. Doctor Haudry was obliged to write a line to 
the Hopital de la Charite and borrow a strait- waistcoat ; 

LofC. 


100 


The Two Brothers. 


for the delirium ran so high as to make him fear that 
Philippe might kill himself, — he was raving. At nine 
o’clock calm was restored. The Abbe Loraux and 
Desroches endeavored to comfort Agathe, who never 
ceased to weep at her aunt’s bedside. She listened to 
them in silence, and obstinately shook her head ; 
Joseph and the Descoings alone knew the extent and 
depth of her inward wound. 

“ He will learn to do better, mother,” said Joseph 
when Desroches and Bixiou had left. 

“ Oh ! ” cried the widow, “ Philippe is right, — my 
father cursed me : I have no right to — Here, here is 
your money,” she said to Madame Descoings, adding 
Joseph’s three hundred francs to the two hundred 
found on Philippe. ‘ ‘ Go and see if your brother does 
not need something,” she said to Joseph. 

“ Will you keep a promise made to a dying woman? ” 
asked Madame Descoings, who felt that her mind was 
failing her. 

“ Yes, aunt.” 

“ Then swear to me to give your property to young 
Desroches for a life annuity. My income ceases at 
my death ; and from what you have just said, I know 
you will let that wretch wring the last farthing out of 
you.” 

“ I swear it, aunt.” 

The old woman died on the 31st of December, five 
days after the terrible blow which old Desroches had 
so innocently given her. The five hundred francs — 
the only money in the household — were barely enough 
to pay for her funeral. She left a small amount of 
silver and some furniture, the value of which Madame 
Bridau paid over to her grandson Bixiou. Reduced to 


The Two Brothers. 


101 


eight hundred francs’ annuity paid to her by young 
Desroches, who had bought a business without clients, 
and himself took the capital of twelve thousand francs, 
Agathe gave up her appartement on the third floor, and 
sold all her superfluous furniture. When, at the end of 
a month, Philippe seemed to be convalescent, his mother 
coldly explained to him that the costs of his illness had 
taken all her ready money, that she should be obliged 
in future to work for her living, and she urged him, 
with the utmost kindness, to re-enter the army and 
support himself. 

“ You might have spared me that sermon,” said 
Philippe, looking at his mother with an eye that was 
cold from utter indifference. “ I have seen all along 
that neither 3"Ou nor my brother love me. I am alone 
in the world ; I hke it best ! ” 

“ Make yourself worthy of our afiection,” answered 
the poor mother, struck to the very heart, “ and we 
will give it back to you — ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” he cried, interrupting her. 

He took his old hat, rubbed white at the edges, stuck 
it over one ear, and went downstairs whistling. 

“ Philippe ! where are you going without any money ?” 
cried his mother, who could not repress her tears. 
“ Here, take this — ” 

She held out to him a hundred francs in gold, wrapped 
up in paper. Philippe came up the stairs he had just 
descended, and took the money. 

“ Well ; won’t you kiss me? ” she said, bursting into 
tears. 

He pressed his mother in his arms, but without the 
warmth of feeling which was all that could give value 
to the embrace. 


102 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Where shall you go?’* asked Agathe. 

“ To Florentine, Giroudeau’s mistress. Ah 1 the^’ 
are real friends ! ” he answered brutally. 

He went away. Agathe turned back with trembling 
limbs, and failing eyes, and aching heart. She fell 
upon her knees, prayed God to take her unnatural 
child into His own keeping, and abdicated her woful 
motherhood. 


The Two Brothers. 


103 


VI. 

By February, 1822, Madame Bridau had settled into 
the attic room recently occupied by Philippe, which 
was over the kitchen of her former appartement. The 
painter’s studio and bedroom was opposite, on the other 
side of the staircase. When Joseph saw his mother 
thus reduced, he was determined to make her as com- 
fortable as possible. After his brother’s departure he 
assisted in the re-arrangement of the garret room, to 
which he gave an artist’s touch. He added a rug ; the 
bed, simple in character but exquisite in taste, had 
something monastic about it; the walls, hung with a 
cheap glazed cotton selected with taste, of a color 
which harmonized with the furniture which was newly 
covered, gave the room an air of elegance and nicety. 
In the hallway he added a double door, with a portiere 
to the inner one. The window was shaded by a blind 
which gave soft tones to the light. If the poor mother’s 
life was reduced to the plainest circumstances that the 
life of any woman could have in Paris, Agathe was at 
least better off than all others in a like case, thanks to 
her son. 

To save his mother from the cruel cares of such re- 
duced housekeeping, Joseph took her every day to dine 
at a table-d’hote in the rue de Beaune, frequented by 
well-bred women, deputies, and titled people, where 
each person’s dinner cost ninety francs a month. Hav- 
ing nothing but the breakfast to provide, Agathe took 


104 


The Two Brothers, 


up for her son the old habits she had formerly had with 
the father. But in spite of Joseph’s pious lies, she 
discovered the fact that her dinner was costing him 
nearly a hundred francs a month. Alarmed at such 
enormous expense, and not imagining that her son 
could earn much money by painting naked women, she 
obtained, thanks to her confessor, the Abbe Loraux, a 
place worth seven hundred francs a year in a lottery- 
office belonging to the Comtesse de Bauvan, the widow 
of a Cfiouan leader. The lottery-offices of the govern- 
ment, the lot, as one might say, of privileged widows, 
ordinarily sufficed for the support of the family of each 
person who managed them. But after the Restora- 
tion the difficulty of rewarding, within the limits of 
constitutional government, all the services rendered to 
the cause, led to the custom of giving to reduced 
women of title not only one but two lottery-offices, 
worth, usually, from six to ten thousand francs a 5^ear. 
In such cases, the widow of a general or nobleman thus 
“protected” did not keep the lottery-office h^self; 
she employed a paid manager. When these managers 
were young men they were obliged to employ an as- 
sistant; for, according to law, the offices had to be 
kept open till midnight ; moreover, the reports required 
by the minister of finance involved considerable writ- 
ing. The Comtesse de Bauvan, to whom the Abbe 
Loraux explained the circumstances of the widow 
Bridau, promised, in case her manager should leave, to 
give the place to Agathe ; meantime she stipulated that 
the widow should be taken as assistant, and receive a 
salary of six hundred francs. Poor Agathe, who was 
obliged to be at the office by ten in the morning, had 
scarcely time to get her dinner. She returned to her 


The Two Brothers, 


105 


work at seven in the evening, remaining there till mid- 
night. Joseph never, for two years, failed to feh his 
mother at night, and bring her back to the rue Maza- 
rin; and often he went to take her to dinner; his 
friends frequently saw him leave the opera or some 
brilliant salon to be punctually at midnight at the ofiSce 
in the rue Vivienne. 

Agathe soon acquired the monotonous regularity of 
life which becomes a stay and a support to those who 
have endured the shock of violent sorrows. In the 
morning, after doing up her room, in which there were 
no longer cats and little birds, she prepared the break- 
fast at her own fire and carried it into the studio, where 
she ate it with her son. She then arranged Joseph’s 
bedroom, put out the fire in her own chamber, and 
brought her sewing to the studio, where she sat by the 
little iron stove, leaving the room if a comrade or a 
model entered it. Though she understood nothing 
whatever of art, the silence of the studio suited her. 
In th^ matter of art she made not the slightest prog- 
ress ; she attempted no hypocrisy ; she was utterly 
amazed at the importance they all attached to color, 
composition, drawing. When the Cenacle friends or 
some brother-painter, like Schinher, Pierre Grassou, 
Ldon de Lora, — a very youthful rapin who was called 
at that time Mistigris, — discussed a picture, she would 
come back afterwards, examine it attentively, and dis- 
cover nothing to justify their fine words and their hot 
disputes. She made her son’s shirts, she mended his 
stockings, she even cleaned his palette, supplied him 
with rags to wipe his brushes, and kept things in order in 
the studio. Seeing how much thought his mother gave 
to these little details, Joseph heaped attentions upon her 


106 


The Two Brothers. 


in return. If mother and son had no sympathies in the 
matter of art, they were at least bound together by signs 
of tenderness. The mother had a purpose. One morn- 
ing as she was petting Joseph while he was sketching a 
large picture (finished in after years and never under- 
stood), she said, as it were, casually and aloud, — 

“ My God ! what is he doing? ” 

“Doing? who?” 

“ Philippe.” 

“Oh, ah! he’s sowing his wild oats; that fellow 
will make something of himself by and by.” 

“ But he has gone through the lesson of poverty ; 
perhaps it was poverty which changed him to what he 
is. If he were prosperous he would be good — ” 

“ You think, my dear mother, that he suffered dur- 
ing that journey of his. You are mistaken ; he kept 
carnival in New York just as he does here — ” 

“ But if he is suffering at this moment, near to us, 
would it not be horrible? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Joseph. “ For my part, I will 
gladly give him some money ; but I don’t want to see 
him ; he killed our poor Descoings.” 

“ So,” resumed Agathe, “ you would not be willing 
to paint his portrait? ” 

“For you, dear mother, I’d suffer mart3Tdom. I 
can make myself remember nothing except that he is 
my brother.” 

“ His portrait as captain of dragoons on horseback ? ” 

“Yes, I’ve a copy of a fine horse by Gros and I 
have n’t any use for it.” 

“ Well, then, go and see that friend of his and find 
out what has become of him.” 

“I’UgoI”^ 


The Two Brothers, 


107 


Agathe rose ; her scissors and work fell at her feet ; 
she went and kissed Joseph’s head, and dropped two 
tears on his hair. 

“ He is your passion, that fellow,” said the painter. 
“ We all have our hopeless passions.” 

That afternoon, about four o’clock, Joseph went to 
the rue du Sentier and found his brother, who had taken 
Giroudeau’s place. The old dragoon had been pro- 
moted to be cashier of a weekly journal established by 
his nephew. Although Finot was still proprietor of 
the other newspaper, which he had divided into shares, 
holding all the shares himself, the proprietor and editor 
de visu was one of his friends, named Lousteau, the 
son of that very sub-delegate of Issoudun on whom the 
Bridaus’ grandfather. Doctor Rouget, had vowed ven- 
geance ; consequently he was the nephew of Madame 
Hochon. To make himself agreeable to his uncle, 
Finot gave Philippe the place Giroudeau was quitting ; 
cutting off, however, half the salary. Moreover, daily, 
at five o’clock, Giroudeau audited the accounts and car- 
ried away the receipts. Coloquinte, the old veteran, who 
was the oflSce boy and did errands, also kept an eye on 
the slippery Philippe ; who was, however, behaving 
properly. A salary of six hundred francs, and the five 
hundred of his cross suflSced him to live, all the more 
because, living in a warm ofiSce all day and at the theatre 
on a free pass every evening, he had only to provide 
himself with food and a place to sleep in. Coloquinte 
was departing with the stamped papers on his head, 
and Philippe was brushing his false sleeves of green 
linen, when Joseph entered. 

“ Bless me, here ’s the cub ! ” cried Philippe. “ Well, 
we ’ll go and dine together. You shall go to the opera ; 


108 


The Two Brothers. 


Florine and Florentine have got a box. I’m going 
with Giroudeau ; you shall be of the party, and I ’ll 
introduce 3^ou to Nathan.” 

He took his leaded cane, and moistened a cigar. 

“ I can’t accept 3^our invitation ; I am to take our 
mother to dine at a table d’ hote.” 

“ Ah ! how is she, the poor, dear woman? ” 

“ She is pretty well,” answered the painter, “ I have 
just repainted our father’s portrait, and aunt Des- 
coings’s. I have also painted my own, and I should 
like to give our mother yours, in the uniform of the 
dragoons of the Imperial Guard.” 

“ Very good.” 

“You will have to come and sit.” 

“I’m obliged to be in this hen-coop from nine o’clock 
till five.” 

“ Two Sundays will be enough.” 

“So be it, little man,” said Napoleon’s staflf oflEicer, 
lighting his cigar at the porter’s lamp. 

When Joseph related Philippe’s position to his 
mother, on their way to dinner in the rue de Beaune, 
he felt her arm tremble in his, and joy lighted up her 
worn face ; the poor soul breathed like one relieved of a 
heavy weight. The next day, inspired by joy and grati- 
tude, she paid Joseph a number of little attentions ; 
she decorated his studio with flowers, and bought him 
two stands of plants. On the first Sunday when Phil- 
ippe was to sit, Agathe arranged a charming breakfast 
in the studio. She laid it all out on the table ; not 
forgetting a flask of brandy, which, however, was 
only half full. She herself stayed behind a screen, in 
which she made a little hole. The ex-dragoon sent his 
uniform the night before, and she had not refrained 


The Two Brothers, 


109 


from kissing it. When Philippe was placed, in full 
dress, on one of those straw horses, all saddled, which 
Joseph had hired for the occasion, Agathe, fearing to 
betray her presence, mingled the soft sound of her tears 
with the conversation of the two brothers. Philippe 
posed for two hours before and two hours after break- 
fast. At three o’clock in the afternoon, he put on his 
ordinary clothes and, as he lighted a cigar, he proposed 
to his brother to go and dine together in the Palais- 
Royal, jingling gold in his pocket as he spoke. 

“No,” said Joseph, “it frightens me to see gold 
about you.” 

“ Ah ! 3"ou ’ll always have a bad opinion of me in this 
house,” cried the colonel in a thundering voice. “ Can’t 
I save my money, too ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” cried Agathe, coming out of her hiding- 
place, and kissing her son. “ Let us go and dine with 
him, Joseph ! ” 

Joseph dared not scold his mother. He went and 
dressed himself ; and Philippe took them to the Rocher 
de Cancale, where he gave them a splendid dinner, the 
bill for which amounted to a hundred francs. 

“ The devil ! ” muttered Joseph uneasilj^ ; “ with an 
income of eleven hundred francs you manage, like 
Ponchard in the ‘ Dame Blanche,’ to save enough to 
fbuy estates.” 

“ Bah, I ’m on a run of luck,” answered the dragoon, 
who had drunk enormously. 

Hearing this speech just as they were on the steps of 
the cafe, and before they got into the carriage to go to 
the theatre, — for Philippe was to take his mother to the 
Cirque-Olympique (the only tlieatre her confessor al- 
lowed her to visit), — Joseph pinched his mother’s arm. 


no 


The Two Brothers. 


She at once pretended to feel unwell, and refused to go 
to the theatre ; Philippe accordingly took them t)ack to 
the rue Mazarin, where, as soon as she was alone with 
Joseph in her garret, Agathe fell into a gloomy silence. 

The following Sunday Philippe came again. This 
time his mother was visibly present at the sitting. She 
served the breakfast, and put several questions to the 
dragoon. She then learned that the nephew of old 
Madame Hochon, the friend of her mother, plaj^ed a 
considerable part in literature. Philippe and his friend 
Giroudeau lived among a circle of journalists, actresses, 
and booksellers, where they were regarded in the light 
of cashiers. Philippe, who had been drinking kirsch 
before posing, was loquacious. He boasted that he was 
about to become a great man. But when Joseph asked 
a question as to his pecuniary resources he was dumb. 
It so happened that there was no newspaper on the fol- 
lowing day, it being a fete, and to finish the picture, 
Philippe proposed to sit again on the morrow. Joseph 
told him that the Salon was close at hand, and as he 
did not have the money to buy two frames for the pic- 
tures he wished to exhibit, he was forced to procure it 
by finishing a copy of a Rubens which had been ordered 
b}^ Elie Magus, the picture-dealer. The original be- 
longed to a wealthy Swiss banker, who had only lent it 
for ten da3’s, and the next day was the last ; the sitting 
must therefore be put off till the following Sunday. 

“ Is that it?” asked Philippe, pointing to a picture 
by Rubens on an easel. 

‘‘Yes,” replied Joseph; “it is worth twenty thou- 
sand francs. That ’s what genius can do. It will take me 
all to-morrow to get the tones of the original and make 
the copy look sO old it can’t be distinguished from it.” 


The Two Brothers. Ill 

“ Adieu, mother,” said Philippe, kissing Agathe. 
“ Next Sunday, then.” 

The next day Elie Magus was to come for his copy. 
Joseph’s friend, Pierre Grassou, who was working for 
the same dealer, wanted to see it when finished. To 
play him a trick, Joseph, when he heard his knock, put 
the copy, which was varnished with a special glaze of 
his own, in place of the original, and put the original 
on his easel. Pierre Grassou was completely taken in ; 
and then amazed and delighted at Joseph’s success. 

“ Do you think it will deceive old Magus? ” he said 
to Joseph. 

“ We shall see,” answered the latter. 

The dealer did not come as he had promised. It was 
getting late ; Agathe dined that day with Madame Des- 
roches, who had lately lost her husband, and Joseph 
proposed to Pierre Grassou to dine at his table d’hote. 
As he went out he left the key of his studio with the 
concierge. 

An hour later Philippe appeared and said to the con- 
cierge, — 

“I am to sit this evening; Joseph will be in soon, 
and I will wait for him in the studio.” 

The woman gave him the key ; Philippe went up- 
stairs, took the copy, thinking it was the original, and 
went down again; returned the key to the concierge 
with the excuse that he had forgotten something, and 
hurried off to sell his Rubens for three thousand francs. 
He had taken the precaution to convey a message from 
his brother to ^Ilie Magus, asking him not to call till 
the following day. 

That evening when Joseph returned, bringing his 
mother from Madame Desroches’s, the concierge told 


112 


The Two Brothers, 


him of Philippe’s freak, — how he had called intending 
to wait, and gone away again immediately. 

“I am ruined — unless he has had the delicacy to 
take the copy,” cried the painter, instantly suspecting the 
theft. He ran rapidly up the three flights and rushed 
into his studio. “God be praised!” he ejaculated. 
“ He is, what he always has been, a vile scoundrel.” 

Agathe, who had followed Joseph, did not understand 
what he was saying ; but when her son explained what 
had happened, she stood still, with the tears in her 
eyes. 

“ Have I but one son? ” she said in a broken voice. 

“We have never yet degraded him to the eyes of 
strangers,” said Joseph; “but we must now warn the 
concierge. In future we shall have to keep the keys 
ourselves. I ’ll finish his blackguard face from memory ; 
there ’s not much to do to it.” 

“ Leave it as it is ; it will pain me too much ever to 
look at it,” answered the mother, heart-stricken and 
stupefied at such wickedness. 

Philippe had been told how the money for this copy 
was to be expended ; moreover he knew the abyss into 
which he would plunge his brother through the loss of 
the Rubens ; but nothing restrained him. After this 
last crime Agathe never mentioned him ; her face ac- 
quired an expression of cold and concentrated and bit- 
ter despair ; one thought took possession of her mind. 

“ Some day,” she said to herself, “ we shall hear of 
a Bridau in the police-courts.” 

Two months later, as Agathe was about to start for 
her office, an old officer, who announced himself as a 
friend of Philippe on urgent business, called on Madame 
Bridau, who happened to be in Joseph’s studio. 


The Two Brothers. 


113 


When Giroudeau gave his name, mother and son 
trembled, and none the less because the ex-dragoon had 
the face of a tough old sailor of the worst type. His 
fishy gray eyes, his piebald moustache, the remains of 
his shaggy hair fringing a skull that was the color of 
fresh butter, all gave an indescribably debauched and 
hbidinous expression to his appearance. He wore an 
old iron-gray overcoat decorated with the red ribbon of 
an oflScer of the Legion of honor, which met with diffi- 
culty over a gastronomic stomach in keeping with a 
mouth that stretched from ear to ear, and a pair of 
powerful shoulders. The torso was supported by a 
spindling pair of legs, while the rubicund tints on the 
cheek-bones bore testimony to a rollicking life. The 
lower part of the cheeks, which were deeply wrinkled, 
overhung a coat-collar of velvet the worse for wear. 
Among other adornments, the ex-dragoon wore enor- 
mous gold rings in his ears. 

“ What a noceur!” thought Joseph, using a popular 
expression, meaning a “ loose fish,’’ which had lately 
passed into the ateliers. 

“Madame,” said Finot’s uncle and cashier, “your 
son is in so unfortunate a position that his friends find 
it absolutely necessary to ask you to share the some- 
what heavy expense which he is to them. He can no 
longer do his work at the office ; and Mademoiselle 
Florentine, of the Porte-Saint-Martin, has taken him to 
lodge with her, in a miserable attic in the rue de Ven- 
ddme. Philippe is dying ; and if you and his brother 
are not able to pay for the doctor and medicines, we 
shall be obliged, for the sake of curing him, to have 
him taken to the hospital of the Capuchins. For three 
hundred francs we would keep him where he is. But he 
8 


114 


The Two Brothers, 


must have a nurse ; for at night, when Mademoiselle 
Florentine is at the theatre, he persists in going out, 
and takes things that are irritating and injurious to his 
malady and its treatment. As we are fond of him, this 
makes us really very unhappy. The poor fellow has 
pledged the pension of his cross for the next three 
years ; he is temporarily displaced from his ofiSce, and 
he has literally nothing. He will kill himself, madame, 
unless we can put him into the private asylum of Doc- 
tor Dubois. It is a decent hospital, where they will take 
him for ten francs a day. Florentine and I will pay 
half, if you will pay the rest ; it won’t be for more than 
two months.” 

“Monsieur, it is difficult for a mother not to be eter- 
nally grateful to you for 3"our kindness to her son,” re- 
plied Agathe ; “ but this son is banished from my heart, 
and as for money, I have none. Not to be a burden 
on my son whom you see here, who works day and 
night and deserves all the love his mother can give him, 
I am the assistant in a lotter^^-office — at my age ! ” 

“And you, j^oung man,” said the old dragoon to 
Joseph; “can’t 3"OU do as much for your brother as 
a poor dancer at the Porte-Sainte-Martin and an old 
soldier?” 

“Look here!” said Joseph, out of patience; “do 
3"Ou want me to tell 3^ou in artist language what I think 
of your visit? Well, you have come to swindle us on 
false pretences.” 

“ To-morrow your brother shall go to the hospital.” 

“ And he will do very well there,” answered Joseph. 
“ If I were in a like case, I should go there too.” 

Giroudeau withdrew, much disappointed, and also 
really mortified at being obliged to send to a hospital 


The Two Brothers. 


115 


a man wlio had carried the Emperor’s orders at the bat- 
tle of Montereau. Three months later, at the end of 
July, as Agathe one morning was crossing the Pont' 
Neuf to avoid paying a sou at the Pont des Arts, she 
saw, coming along by the shops of the Quai de I’ilcole, 
a man bearing all the signs of second-class poverty, 
who, she thought, resembled Philippe. In Paris, there 
are three distinct classes of poverty. First, the poverty 
of the man who preserves appearances, and to whom a 
future still belongs ; this is the povert}^ of young men, 
artists, men of the world, momentarily unfortunate. 
The outward signs of their distress are not visible, ex- 
cept under the microscope of a close observer. These 
persons are the equestrian order of poverty ; they con- 
tinue to drive about in cabriolets. In the second order 
we find old men who have become indifferent to every- 
thing, and, in June, put the cross of the Legion of honor 
on alpaca overcoats ; that is the poverty of small in- 
comes, — of old clerks, who live at Sainte-Perine and 
care no longer about their outward man. Then comes, 
in the third place, poverty in rags, the poverty of the 
people, the poverty that is poetic ; which Callot, Ho- 
garth, Murillo, Chaiiet, Raffet, Gavarni, Meissonier, 
Art itself adores and cultivates, especially during the 
carnival. The man in whom poor Agathe thought she 
recognized her son was astride the last two classes of 
poverty. She saw the ragged neck-cloth, the scurfy 
hat, the broken and patched boots, the threadbare coat, 
whose buttons had shed their mould, leaving the empty 
shrivelled pod dangling in congruity with the torn pockets 
and the dirty collar. Scraps of fine were in the creases 
of the coat, which showed plainly the dust that filled it. 
The man drew from the pockets of his seam-rent iron- 


116 


The Two Br other B. 


gray trousers a pair of hands as black as those of a 
mechanic. A knitted woollen waistcoat, discolored by 
use, showed below the sleeves of his coat, and above 
the trousers, and no doubt served instead of a shirt. 
Philippe wore a green silk shade with a wire edge over 
his eyes ; his head, which was nearly bald, the tints of 
his skin, and his sunken face too plainly revealed that 
he was just leaving the terrible Hopital du Midi. His 
blue overcoat, whitened at the seams, was still decorated 
with the ribbon of his cross ; and the passers-by looked 
at the hero, doubtless some victim of the government, 
with curiosity and commiseration ; the rosette attracted 
notice, and the fiercest “ultra” was jealous for the 
honor of the Legion. In those days, however much 
the government endeavored to bring the Order into dis- 
repute by bestowing its cross right and left, there were 
not fifty-three thousand persons decorated. 

Agathe trembled through her whole being. If it were 
impossible to love this son any longer, she could still 
suffer for him. Quivering with this last expression of 
motherhood, she wept as she saw the brilliant staff 
officer of the Emperor turn to enter a tobacconist’s and 
pause on the threshold ; he had felt in his pocket and 
found nothing. Agathe left the bridge, crossed the quai 
rapidly, took out her purse, thrust it into Philippe’s 
hand, and fied away as if she had committed a crime. 
After that, she ate nothing for two days ; before her 
was the horrible vision of her son dying of hunger in 
the streets of Paris. 

‘ ‘ When he has spent all the money in my purse, who 
will give him any?” she thought. “ Giroudeau did not 
deceive us ; Philippe is just out of that hospital.” 

She no longer saw the assassin of her poor aunt, the 


The Two Brothers. 


117 


scourge of the family, the domestic thief, the gambler, 
the drunkard, the low liver of a bad life ; she saw only 
the man recovering from illness, yet doomed to die of 
starvation, the smoker deprived of his tobacco. At 
forty-seven years of age she grew to look like a woman 
of seventy. Her eyes were dimmed with tears and pray- 
ers. Yet it was not the last grief this son was to bring 
upon her ; her worst apprehensions were destined to be 
realized. A conspiracy of ofiScers was discovered at the 
heart of the army, and articles from the “Moniteur” 
giving details of the arrests were hawked about the 
streets. 

In the depths of her cage in the lottery-office of the 
rue Vivienne, Agathe heard the name of Philippe Bri- 
dau. She fainted, and the manager, understanding 
her trouble and the necessity of taking certain steps, 
gave her leave of absence for two weeks. 

“ Ah ! my friend,” she said to Joseph, as she went to 
bed that night, “ it is our severity which drove him to it.” 

“ Iffi go and see Desroches,” answered Joseph. 

While the artist was confiding his brother’s affairs to 
the younger Desroches, — who by this time had the re- 
putation of being one of the keenest and most astute 
lawyers in Paris, and who, moreover, did sundry ser- 
vices for personages of distinction, among others for des 
Lupeaulx, then secretary of a ministry, — Giroudeau 
called upon the widow. This time, Agathe believed him. 

“Madame,” he said, “if you can produce twelve 
thousand francs, your son will be set at liberty for 
want of proof. It is necessary to buy the silence of 
two witnesses.” 

“ I will get the money,” said the poor mother, with- 
out knowing how or where. 


118 


The Two Brothers, 


Inspired by this danger, she wrote to her godmother, 
old Madame Hochon, begging her to ask Jean- Jacques 
Rouget to send her the twelve thousand francs and save 
his nephew Philippe. If Rouget refused, she entreated 
Madame Hochon to lend them to her, promising to re- 
turn them in two 5'ears. By return of courier, she re- 
ceived the following letter : — 

My dear girl : Though your brother has an income of 
not less than forty thousand francs a year, without counting 
the sums be has laid by for the last seventeen years, and which 
Monsieur Hochon estimates at more than six hundred thou- 
sand francs, he will not give one penny to nephews whom he has 
never seen. As for me, you know I cannot dispose of a far- 
thing while my husband lives. Hochon is the greatest miser 
in Issoudun. I do not know what he does with his money ; 
he does not give twenty francs a year to his grandchildren. 
As for borrowing the money, I should have to get his signa- 
ture, and he would refuse it. I have not even attempted to 
speak to your brother, who lives with a concubine, to whom 
he is a slave. It is pitiable to see how the poor man is treated 
in his own home, when he might have a sister and nephews 
to take care of him. 

I have hinted to you several times that your presence at 
Issoudun might save your brother, and rescue a fortune of 
forty, perhaps sixty, thousand francs a year from the claws of 
that slut ; but you either do not answer me, or you seem never 
to understand my meaning. So to-day I am obliged to write 
without epistolary circumlocution. I feel for the misfortune 
which has overtaken you, but, my dearest, I can do no more 
than pity you. And this is why; Hochon, at eighty-five years 
of age, takes four meals a day, eats a salad with hard-boiled 
eggs every night, and frisks about like a rabbit. I shall have 
spent my whole life — for he will live to write my epitaph — 
without ever having had twenty francs in my purse. If you 
will come to Issoudun and counteract the influence of that 


The Two Brothers. 


119 


concubine over your brother, you must stay with me, for there 
are reasons why Rouget cannot receive you in his own house ; 
but even then, I shall have hard work to get my husband to 
let me have you here. However, you can safely come ; I can 
make him mind me as to that. I know a way to get what 
I want out of him ; I have only to speak of making my will. 
It seems such a horrid thing to do that I do not often have 
recourse to it ; but for you, dear Agathe, I will do the im- 
possible. 

I hope your Philippe will get out of his trouble; and I beg 
you to employ a good lawyer. In any case, come to Issoudun 
as soon as you can. Remember that your imbecile of a 
brother at fifty-seven is an older and weaker man than Mon- 
sieur Hochon. So it is a pressing matter. People are talk- 
ing already of a will that cuts off your inheritance; but 
Monsieur Hochon says there is still time to get it revoked. 

Adieu, my little Agathe ; may God help you ! Believe in 
the love of your godmother, 

Maximilienne Hochon, nee Lousteau. 

P. S. Has my nephew, Etienne, who writes in the news- 
papers and is intimate, they tell me, with your son Philippe, 
been to pay his respects to you? But come at once to Issou- 
dun, and we will talk over things. 

This letter made a great impression on Agathe, who 
showed it, of course, to Joseph, to whom she had 
been forced to mention Giroudeau’s proposal. The 
artist, who grew wary when it concerned his brother, 
pointed out to her that she ought to tell everything to 
Desroches. 

Conscious of the wisdom of that advice, Agathe went 
with her son the next morning, at six o’clock, to find 
Desroches at his house in the rue de Bussy. The 
lawyer, as cold and stern as his late father, with a sharp 
voice, a rough skin, implacable eyes, and the visage of 


120 


The Two Brothers, 


a fox as he licks his lips of the blood of chickens, 
bounded like a tiger when he heard of Giroudeau’s visit 
and proposal. 

“And pray, mere Bridau,’’ he cried, in his little 
cracked voice, “ how long are you going to be duped 
by your cursed brigand of a son ? Don’t give him a far- 1 
thing. Make yourself easy, I ’ll answer for Philippe. 

I should like to see him brought before the Court of 
Peers ; it might save his future. You are afraid he will 
be condemned ; but I say, may it please God his lawyer 
lets him be convicted. Go to Issoudun, secure the 
property for your children. If you don’t succeed, if 
your brother has made a will in favor of that woman, 
and you can’t make him revoke it, — well then, at least 
get all the evidence you can of undue influence, and I ’ll 
institute proceedings for you. But you are too honest 
a woman to know how to get at the bottom facts of such 
a matter. I ’ll go myself to Issoudun in the holidays, 
— if I can.” 

That “ go myself” made Joseph tremble in his skin. 
Desroches winked at him to let his mother go down- 
stairs first, and then the lawyer detained the young man 
for a single moment. 

“ Your brother is a great scoundrel ; he is the cause 
of the discovery of this conspiracy, — intentionally or 
not I can’t say, for the rascal is so sly no one can 
find out the exact truth as to that. Fool or traitor, — 
take your choice. He will be put under the surveillance 
of the police, nothing more. You need n’t be uneasy ; 
no one knows this secret but myself. Go to Issoudun 
with your mother. You have good sense ; tiy to save 
the property.” 

“Come, my poor mother, Desroches is right,” said 


The Two Brothers, 


121 


Josepl, rejoining Agathe on the staircase. “I have 
sold my two pictures, let us start for Berry ; you have 
two weeks’ leave of absence.” 

After writing to her godmother to announce their ar- 
rival, Agathe and Joseph started the next evening for 
their trip to Issoudun, leaving Philippe to his fate. 
The diligence I’olled through the rue d’ Enfer toward the 
Orleans highroad. When Agathe saw the Luxembourg, 
to which Philippe had been transferred, she could not 
refrain from saying, — 

“If it were not for the Allies he would never be 
there ! ” 

Many sons would have made an impatient gesture 
and smiled with pity ; but the artist, who was alone with 
his mother in the coupe, caught her in his arms and 
pressed her to his heart, exclaiming: — 

“Oh, mother! you are a mother just as Raphael 
was a painter. And you will always be a fool of a 
mother ! ” 

Madame Bridau’s mind, diverted before long from 
her griefs by the distractions of the journey, began to 
dwell on the purpose of it. She re-read the letter of 
Madame Hochon, which had so stirred up the lawyer 
Desroches. Struck with the words “concubine” and 
“ slut,” which the pen of a septuagenarian as pious as 
she was respectable had used to designate the woman 
now in process of getting hold of Jean- Jacques Rouget’s 
property, struck also with the word “ imbecile” applied 
to Rouget himself, she began to ask herself how, by her 
presence at Issoudun, she was to save the inheritance. 
Joseph, poor disinterested artist that he was, knew 
little enough about the Code, and his mother’s last re- 
mark absorbed his mind. 


V 


122 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Before our friend Desroches sent us off to protect 
our rights, he ought to have explained to us the means 
of doing so,” he exclaimed. 

“ So far as my poor head, which whirls at the thought 
of Philippe in prison, — without tobacco, perhaps, and 
about to appear before the Court of Peers ! — leaves me 
any distinct memory,” returned Agathe, “ I think 
young Desroches said we were to get evidence of undue 
influence, in case mj" brother has made a will in favor 
of that — that — woman.” 

‘‘ He is good at that, Desroches is,” cried the painter. 
“ Bah ! if we can make nothing of it T’!! get him to 
come himself.” 

“ Well, don’t let us trouble our heads uselessly,” 
said Agathe. ‘ ‘ When we get to Issoudun my godmother 
will tell us what to do.” 

This conversation, which took place just after Madame 
Bridau and Joseph changed coaches at Orleans and en- 
tered the Sologne, is suflScient proof of the incapacity 
of the painter and his mother to play the part the inex- 
orable Desroches had assigned to them. 

In returning to Issoudun after thirty years’ absence, 
Agathe was about to find such changes in its manners 
and customs that it is necessary to sketch, in a few 
words, a picture of that town. Without it, the reader 
would scarcely understand the heroism displayed by 
Madame Hochon in assisting her goddaughter, or the 
strange situation of Jean-Jacques Bouget. Though 
Doctor Rouget had taught his son to regard Agathe in 
the light of a stranger, it was certainly a somewhat ex- 
traordinary thing that for thirty years a brother should 
have given no signs of life to a sister. Such a silence 
was evidently caused by peculiar circumstances, and 


The Two Brothers, 


123 


any other sister and nephew than Agathe and Joseph 
would long ago have inquired into them. There is, 
moreover, a certain connection between the condition of 
the city of Issoudun and the interests of the Bridau 
family, which can only be seen as the story goes on. 


124 


The Two Brothers. 


VII. 

IssouDUN, be it said without offence to Paris, is one 
of the oldest cities in France. In spite of the historical 
assumption which makes the emperor Probus the Noah 
of the Gauls, Caesar speaks of the excellent wine of 
Champ-Fort {de Campo Forti) still one of the best 
vintages of Issoudun. Rigord writes of this city in 
language which leaves no doubt as to its great popula- 
tion and its immense commerce. But these testimonies 
both assign a much lesser age to the city than its ac- 
tual antiquity demands. In fact, the excavations lately 
undertaken by a learned archaeologist of the place. Mon- 
sieur Armand Per4met, have brought to light, under the 
celebrated tower of Issoudun, a basilica of the fifth 
century, probably the only one in France. This church 
preserves, in its very materials, the sign-manual of an 
anterior civilization ; for its stones came from a Roman 
temple which stood on the same site. 

Issoudun, therefore, according to the researches of 
this antiquary, like other cities of France whose ancient 
or modern autonym ends in Bun {dunum) bears in its 
very name the certificate of an autochthonous existence. 
The word Bun^ the appanage of all dignity consecrated 
by Druidical worship, proves a religious and military 
settlement of the Celts. Beneath the Dun of the Gauls 
must have lain the Roman temple to Isis. From that 
comes, according to Chaumon, the name of the cit}’, Is- 
sous-Dun, — Is being the abbreviation of Isis. Richard 


The Two Brothers. 


125 


Coeur-de-lion undoubtedly built the famous tower (in 
which he coined money) above the basilica of the fifth 
century, — the third monument of the third religion of 
this ancient town. He used the church as a neces- 
sary foundation, or stay, for the raising of the ram- 
part ; and he preserved it by covering it with feudal 
fortifications as with a mantle. Issoudun was at that 
time the seat of the ephemeral power of the Routiers 
and the Cottereaux, adventurers and free-lances, whom 
Henry H. sent against his son Richard, at the time of 
his rebellion as Comte de Poitou. 

The history of Aquitaine, which was not written by 
the Benedictines, will probably never be written, because 
there are no longer Benedictines : thus we are not able 
to light up these archaeological tenebrae in the history 
of our manners and customs on every occasion of their 
appearance. There is another testimony to the ancient 
importance of Issoudun in the conversion into a canal 
of the Tournemine, a little stream raised several feet 
above the level of the Theols which surrounds the 
town. This is undoubtedly the work of Roman genius. 
Moreover, the suburb which extends from the castle in 
a northerly direction is intersected by a street which for 
more than two thousand years has borne the name of 
the rue de Rome ; and the inhabitants of this suburb, 
whose racial characteristics,, blood, and physiognomy 
have a special stamp of their own, call themselves 
descendants of the Romans. They are nearly all vine- 
growers, and display a remarkable infiexibilit3^ of man- 
ners and customs, due, undoubtedly, to their origin, — 
perhaps also to their victory over the Cottereaux and 
the Routiers, whom they exterminated on the plain of 
Charost in the twelfth century. 


126 


The Two Brothers, 


After the insurreetion of 1830, France was too agi- 
tated to pay much attention to the rising of the vine- 
growers of Issoudun ; a terrible affair, the facts of 
which have never been made public, — for good rea- 
sons. In the first place, the bourgeois of Issoudun 
refused to allow the military to enter the town. They 
followed the use and wont of the bourgeoisie of the 
Middle Ages and declared themselves responsible for 
their own city. The government was obliged to yield 
to a sturdy people backed up by seven or eight thou- 
sand vine-growers, who had burned all the archives, also 
the offices of ‘indirect taxation,” and had dragged 
through the streets a customs officer, crying out at 
every street lantern, “ Let us hang him here!” The 
poor man’s life was saved from these madmen by the 
national guard, who took him to prison on pretext of 
drawing up his indictment. The general in command 
only entered the town by virtue of a compromise made 
with the vine-growers ; and it needed some courage to 
go among them. At the moment when he showed him- 
self at the hotel-de-ville, a man from the faubourg de 
Kome slung a volant round his neck (the volant is a 
huge priming-hook fastened to a pole, with which they 
trim trees) crjung out, “No more clerks, or there’s an 
end to compromise 1 ” The fellow would have taken off 
that honored head, left untouched by sixteen years of 
war, had it not been for the hasty intervention of one of 
the leaders of the revolt, to whom a promise had been 
made that the Chambers should he asked to suppress 
the excisemen. 

In the fourteenth century, Issoudun still had six- 
teen or seventeen thousand inhabitants, remains of a 
population double that number in the time of Rigord. 


The Two Brothers. 


127 


Charles VII. possessed a mansion which still exists, and 
was known, as late as the eighteenth century, as the 
Maison du Roi. This town, then a centre of the woollen 
trade, supplied that commodity to the greater part of 
Europe, and manufactured on a large scale blankets, 
hats, and the excellent Chevreautin gloves. Under 
Louis XIV., Issoudun, the birthplace of Baron and 
Bourdaloue, was always cited as a cit}" of elegance and 
good society, where the language was correctly spoken. 
The curate Poupard, in his History of Sancerre, men- 
tions the inhabitants of Issoudun as remarkable among 
the other Berrichons for subtlety and natural wit. To- 
da}", the wit and the splendor have alike disappeared. 
Issoudun, whose great extent of ground bears witness 
to its ancient importance, has now barely twelve thou- 
sand inhabitants, including the vine-dressers of four 
enormous suburbs, — those of Saint-Paterne, Vilatte, 
Rome, and Alouette, which are really small towns. The 
bourgeoisie, like that of Versailles, are spread over the 
length and breadth of the streets. Issoudun still holds 
the market for the fleeces of Berry ; a commerce now 
threatened by improvements in the stock which are be- 
ing introduced everywhere except in Berry. 

The vineyards of Issoudun produce a wine which is 
drunk throughout the two departments, and which, if 
manufactured as Burgundy and Gascony manufacture 
theirs, would be oneof the best wine's in France. Alas, 
“ to do as our fathers did,” with no innovations, is the 
law of the land. Accordingly, the vine-growers continue 
to leave the refuse of the grape in the juice during its 
fermentation, which makes the wine detestable, when it 
might be a source of ever-springing wealth, and an in- 
dustry for the community. Thanks to the bitterness 


128 


The Two Brothers, 


which the refuse infuses into the wine, and which, they 
say, lessens with age, a vintage will keep a century. 
This reason, given by the vine-grower in excuse for his 
obstinacy, is of sufficient importance to oenology to be 
made public here ; Guillaume le Breton has also pro- j 
claimed it in some lines of his “ Philippide.” v 

The decline of Issoudun is explained by this spirit of 
sluggishness, sunken to actual torpor, which a single 
fact will illustrate. When the authorities were talking 
of a highroad between Paris and Tpulouse, it was nat- 
ural to think of taking it from Vierzon to Chateauroux 
by way of Issoudun. The distance was shorter than to 
make it, as the road now is, through Vatan. But the 
leading people of the neighborhood and the city council 
of Issoudun (whose discussion of the matter is said 
to be recorded), demanded that it should go by Vatan, 
on the ground that if the highroad went through their 
town, provisions would rise in price and they might 
be forced to pay thirty sous for a chicken. The only 
analogy to be found for this proceeding is in the wilder 
parts of Sardinia, a land once so rich and populous, 
now so deserted. When Charles Albert, with a praise- 
worthy intention of civilization, wished to unite Sassari, 
the second capital of the island, with Cagliari by a mag- 
nificent highway (the only one ever made in that wild 
waste by name Sardinia), the direct line lay through 
Bornova, a district inhabited by a lawless people, all 
the more like our Arab tribes because they are de- 
scended from the Moors. Seeing that they were about 
to fall into the clutches of civilization, the savages of 
Bornova, without taking the trouble to discuss the mat- 
ter, declared their opposition to the road. The govern- 
ment took no notice of it. The first engineer who came 


The Two Brothers. 


129 


to survey it, got a ball through his head, and died on 
his level. No action was taken on this murder, but the 
road made a circuit which lengthened it by eight miles ! 

The continual lowering of the price of wines drunk in 
the neighborhood, though it may satisfy the desire of 
the bourgeoisie of Issoudun for cheap provisions, is 
leading the way to the ruin of the vine-growers, who 
are more and more burdened with the costs of cultiva- 
tion and the taxes ; just as the ruin of the woollen trade 
is the result of the non-improvement in the breeding of 
sheep. Country-folk have the deepest horror of change ; 
even that which is most conducive to their interests. In 
the countr}", a Parisian meets a laborer who eats an 
enormous quantity of bread, cheese, and vegetables ; he 
proves to him that if he would substitute for that diet 
a certain portion of meat, he would be better fed, 
at less cost ; that he could work more, and would not 
use up his capital of health and strength so quickly. 
The Berrichon sees the correctness of the calculation, 
but he ans^^jers, “Think of the gossip, monsieur.” 
“ Gossip, what do you mean ? ” “ Well, yes, what would 
people say of me?” “He would be the talk of the 
neighborhood,” said the owner of the property on which 
this scene took place ; “ they would think him as rich as 
a tradesman. He is afraid of public opinion, afraid of 
being pointed at, afraid of seeming ill or feeble. That ’s 
how we all are in this region.” Many of the bourgeoisie 
utter this phrase with feelings of inward pride. 

While ignorance and custom are invincible in the 
country regions, where the peasants are left very much 
to themselves, the town of Issoudun itself has reached 
a state of complete social stagnation. Obliged to meet 
the decadence of fortunes by the practice of sordid econ- 
9 


130 


The Two Brothers. 


omy, each family lives to itself. Moreover, society is 
permanently deprived of that distinction of classes which 
gives character to manners and customs. There is no 
opposition of social forces, such as that to which the 
cities of the Italian States in the Middle Ages owed their 
vitality. There are no longer any nobles in Issoudun. 
The Cottereaux, the Routiers, the Jacquerie, the relig- 
ious wars and the Revolution did away with the nobilit}'. 
The town is proud of that triumph. Issoudun has re- 
peatedly refused to receive a garrison, always on the plea 
of cheap provisions. She has thus lost a means of inter- 
course with the age, and she has also lost the profits aris- 
ing from the presence of troops. Before 1756, Issoudun 
was one of the most delightful of all the garrison towns. 
A jutlicial drama, which occupied for a time the atten- 
tion of France, the feud of a lieutenant-general of the 
department with the Marquis de Chapt, whose son, an 
officer of dragoons, was put to death, — justly perhaps, 
yet traitorously, for some aflair of gallantry, — deprived 
the town from that time forth of a garrison. The sojourn 
of the forty-fourth demi-brigade, imposed upon it during 
the civil war, was not of a nature to reconcile the inhabi- 
tants to the race of warriors. 

Bourges, whose population is yearly decreasing, is 
a victim of the same social malady. Vitahty is leaving 
these communities. Undoubtedly, the government is to 
blame. The duty of an administration is to discover 
the wounds upon the body-politic, and remedy them by 
sending men of energy to the diseased regions, with 
power to change the state of things. Alas, so far from 
that, it approves and encourages this ominous and fatal 
tranquillit3\ Besides, it ma}" be asked, how could the 
government send new administrators and able magis- 


The Ta)o Brothers. 


131 


trates ? Who, of such men, is willing to bury himself 
in the arrondissements, where the good to be done is 
without glory? If, by chance, some ambitious stranger 
settles there, he soon falls into the inertia of the region, 
and tunes himself to the dreadful key of provincial life. 
Issoudun would have benumbed Napoleon. 

As a result of this particular characteristic, the arron- 
dissement of Issoudun was governed, in 1822, by men 
who all belonged to Berry. The administration of power 
became either a nullity or a farce, — except in certain 
cases, naturally very rare, which by their manifest impor- 
tance compelled the authorities to act. The procureur du 
roi. Monsieur Mouilleron, was cousin to the entire com- 
munity, and his substitute belonged to one of the families 
of the town. The judge of the court, before attaining 
that dignity, was made famous by one of those provincial 
savings which put a cap and bells on a man’s head for 
the rest of his life. As he ended his summing-up of all 
the facts of an indictment, he looked at the accused and 
said : “ My poor Pierre ! the thing is as plain as day ; 
your head will be cut off. Let this be a lesson to you.” 
The commissary of police, holding that office since the 
Restoration, had relations throughout the arrondisse- 
ment. Moreover, not only was the influence of religion 
null, but the curate himself was held in no esteem. 

It was this bourgeoisie, radical, ignorant, and loving 
to annoy others, which now related tales, more or less 
comic, about the relations of Jean-Jacques Rouget with 
his servant- woman. The children of these people went 
none the less to Sunday-school, and were as scrupu- 
lously prepared for their communion : the schools were 
kept up all the same ; mass was said ; the taxes were 
paid (the sole thing that Paris exacts of the provinces). 


132 


The Two Brothers. 


and the maj^or passed resolutions. But all these acts of 
social existence were done as mere routine, and thus 
the laxity of the local government suited admirably 
with the moral and intellectual condition of the gov- 
erned. The events of the following history will show 
the effects of this state of things, which is not as 
unusual in the provinces as might be supposed. Many 
towns in France, more particularly in the South, are like 
Issoudun. The condition to which the ascendency of 
the bourgeoisie has reduced that local capital is one 
which will spread over all France, and even to Paris, if 
the bourgeois continues to rule the exterior and interior 
policy of our countr3^ 

Now, one word of topography. Issoudun stretches, 
north and south, along a hillside which rounds towards 
the highroad to Chateauroux. At the foot of the hill, 
a canal, now called the “ Riviere forcee” whose waters 
are taken from the Theols, was constructed in former 
times, when the town was flourishing, for the ^e of 
manufactories or to flood the moats of the rampart. 
The “ Riviere forc4e ” forms an artiflcial arm of a 
natural river, the Tournemine, which unites with several 
other streams beyond the suburb of Rome. These little 
threads of running water and the two rivers irrigate a 
tract of wide-spreading meadow-land, enclosed on all 
sides b}^ little j^ellowish or white terraces dotted with 
black speckles ; for such is the aspect of the vine3’ards 
of Issoudun during seven months of the 3’ear. The vine- 
growers cut the plants down 3'earl3^, leaving 01113^ an 
ugly stump, without support, sheltered by a barrel. 
The traveller anlving from Vierzon, Vatan, or Chateau- 
roux, his eyes weary with monotonous plains, is agree- 
ably surprised by the meadows of Issoudun, — the oasis 


The Two Brothers. 


133 


of this part of Berry, which supplies the inhabitants 
witli vegetables throughout a region of thirty miles in 
circumference. Below the suburb of Rome, lies a vast 
tract entirely covered with kitchen-gardens, and divided 
into two sections, which bear the name of upper and 
lower Baltan. A long avenue of poplars leads from 
' the town across the meadows to an ancient convent 
named Frapesle, whose English gardens, quite unique 
in that arrondissement, have received the ambitious 
name of Tivoli. Loving couples whisper their vows in 
its alleys of a Sunday. 

Traces of the ancient grandeur of Issoudun of course 
reveal themselves to the eyes of a careful observer ; and 
the most suggestive are the divisions of the town. The 
chateau, formerly almost a town itself with its walls and 
moat, is a distinct quarter which can onl}" be entered, 
even at the present day, through its ancient gatewa3^s, — 
b3" means of three bridges thrown across the arms of the 
two rivers, — and has all the appearance of an ancient 
city. The ramparts show, in places, the formidable 
strata of their foundations, on which houses have now 
sprung up. Above the chateau, is the famous tower of 
Issoudun, once the citadel. The conqueror of the cit}^, 
which lay around these two fortified points, had still 
to gain possession of the tower and the castle ; and pos- 
session of the castle did not insure that of the tower, or 
citadel. 

The suburb of Saint-Paterne, which lies in the shape 
of a palette beyond the tower, encroaching on the meadow- 
lands, is so considerable that in the very earliest ages it 
must have been part of the city itself. This opinion 
derived, in 1822, a sort of certainty from the then 
existence of the charming church of Saint-Paterne, 


134 


The Two Brothers, 


recently pulled down by the heir of the individual who 
bought it of the nation. This church, one of the finest 
specimens of the Romanesque that France possessed, 
actually perished without a single drawing being made 
of the portal, which was in perfect preservation. The 
only voice raised to save this monument of a past art 
found no echo, either in the town itself or in the de- 
partment. Though the castle of Issoudun has the 
appearance of an old town, with its narrow streets and 
its ancient mansions, the city itself, properly so called, 
which was captured and burned at different epochs, 
notably during the Fronde, when it was laid in ashes, 
has a modern air. Streets that are spacious in compar- 
ison with those of other towns, and well-built houses 
form a striking contrast to the aspect of the citadel, — a 
contrast that has won for Issoudun, in certain geogra- 
phies, the epithet of “ pretty.” 

In a town thus constituted, without the least activit}^, 
even business activity, without a taste for art, or for 
learned occupations, and where everybody stayed in the 
little round of his or her own home, it was likely to 
happen, and did happen under the Restoration in 1816 
when the war was over, that many of the young men of 
the place had no career before them, and knew not 
where to turn for occupation until they could marry or 
inherit the property of their fathers. Bored in their 
own homes, these young fellows found httle or no dis- 
traction elsewhere in the city ; and as, in the language 
of that region, “youth must shed its cuticle they sowed 
their wdld oats at the expense of the town itself. It was 
difficult to carry on such operations in open day, lest the 
perpetrators should be recognized ; for the cup of their 
misdemeanors once filled, they were liable to be arraigned 


The Two Brothers. 


135 


at their next peccadillo before the police courts ; and 
they therefore judiciously selected the night time for 
the performance of their mischievous pranks. Thus it 
was that among the traces of divers lost civilizations, 
a vestige of the spirit of drollery that characterized the 
manners of antiquity burst into a final flame. 

The young men amused themselves very much as 
Charles IX. amused himself with his courtiers, or 
Henry V. of England and his companions, or as in 
former times young men were wont to amuse them- 
selves in the provinces. Having once banded together 
for purposes of mutual help, to defend each other and 
invent amusing tricks, there presently developed among 
them, through the clash of ideas, that spirit of malicious 
mischief which belongs to the period of youth and may 
even be observed among animals. The confederation, 
in itself, gave them the mimic delights of the mystery of 
an organized conspiracy. They called themselves the 
“Knights of Idleness.” During the day these young 
scamps were youthful saints ; the}^ all pretended to 
extreme quietness; and, in fact, they habitually slept 
late after the nights on which they had been playing 
their malicious pranks. The “ Knights ” began with 
mere commonplace tricks, such as unhooking and chang- 
ing signs, ringing bells, flinging casks left before one 
house into the cellar of the next with a crash, rousing 
the occupants of the house by a noise that seemed to 
their frightened ears like the explosion of a mine. In 
Issoudun, as in many country towns, the cellar is en- 
tered by an opening near the door of the house, covered 
with a wooden scuttle, -secured by strong iron hinges 
and a padlock. 

In 1816, these modern Bad Boys had not altogether 


136 


The Two Brothers, 


given up such tricks as these, perpetrated in the prov- 
inces by all young lads and gamins. But in 1817 the 
Order of Idleness acquired a Grand Master, and distin- 
guished itself by mischief which, up to 1823, spread 
something like terror in Issoudun, or at least kept the 
artisans and the bourgeoisie perpetually uneasy. 

This leader was a certain Maxence Gilet, commonly 
called Max, whose antecedents, no less than his j'outh 
and his vigor, predestined him for such a part. Max- 
ence Gilet was supposed by all Issoudun to be the nat- 
ural son of the sub-delegate Lousteau, that brother of 
Madame Hochon whose gallantries had left memories 
behind them, and who, as we have seen, drew down 
upon himself the hatred of old Doctor Rouget about 
the time of Agathe’s birth. But the friendship which 
bound the two men together before their quarrel was 
so close that, to use an expression of that region and 
that period, “they willingly walked the same road.” 
Some people said that Maxence was as likely to be the 
son of the doctor as of the sub-delegate ; but in fact 
he belonged to neither the one nor the other, — his 
father being a charming dragoon officer in garrison 
at Bourges. Nevertheless, as a result of their enmity, 
and very fortunately for the child, Rouget and Lousteau 
never ceased to claim his paternity. 

Max’s mother, the wife of a poor sabot-maker in 
the Rome suburb, was possessed, for the perdition of 
her soul, of a surprising beaut}^ a Trasteverine beauty, 
the only property which she transmitted to her son. 
Madame Gilet, pregnant with Maxence in 1788, had 
long desired that blessing, which the town attributed to 
the gallantries of the two friends, — probably in the 
hope of setting them against each other. Gilet, an old 


The Two Brothers, 


137 


drunkard with a triple throat, treated his wife’s mis- 
conduct with a collusion that is not uncommon among 
the lower classes. To make sure of protectors for her 
Bon, Madame Gilet was careful not to enlighten his 
reputed fathers as to his parentage. In Paris, she 
would have turned out a millionnaire ; at Issoudun she 
lived sometimes at her ease, more often miserably, and, 
in the long run, despised. Madame Hochon, Lous- 
teau’s sister, paid sixty francs a year for the lad’s 
schooling. This liberality, which Madame Hochon was 
quite unable to practise on her own account because of 
her husband’s stinginess, was naturally attributed to her 
brother, then living at Sancerre. 

When Doctor Rouget, who certainly was not lucky 
in sons, observed Max’s beauty, he paid the board of the 
“ young rogue,” as he called him, at the seminary, up 
to the 3’ear 1805. As Lousteau died in 1800, and the 
doctor apparently obe^^ed a feeling of vanity in pa\ung 
the lad’s board until 1805, the question of the paternity 
was left forever undecided. Maxence Gilet, the butt 
of many jests, was soon forgotten, — and for this reason : 
In 1806, a year after Doctor Rouget’s death, the lad, 
who seemed to have been created for a venturesome 
life, and was moreover gifted with remarkable vigor 
and agility, got into a series of scrapes which more or 
less threatened his safety. He plotted with the grand- 
sons of Monsieur Hochon to worry the grocers of the 
city ; he gathered fruit before the owners could pick it, 
and made nothing of scaling walls. He had no equal 
at bodity exercises, he played base to perfection, and 
could have outrun a hare. With a keen eye worthy of 
Leather-stocking, he loved hunting passionatety. His 
time was passed in firing at a mark, instead of stud}'- 


138 


The Two Brothers, 


ing; and he spent the money extracted from the old 
doctor in buying powder and ball for a wretched pistol 
that old Gilet, the sabot-maker, had given him. Dur- 
ing the autumn of 1806, Maxence, then seventeen, 
committed an involuntary murder, by frightening in the 
dusk a young woman who was pregnant, and who came 
upon him suddenly while stealing fruit in her garden. 
Threatened with the guillotine by Gilet, who doubt- 
less wanted to get rid of him. Max fled to Bourges, met 
a regiment then on its way to Egypt, and enlisted. 
Nothing came of the death of the young woman. 

A young fellow of Max’s character was sure to dis- 
tinguish himself, and in the course of three campaigns 
he did distinguish himself so highly that he rose to be a 
captain, his lack of education helping him strenuously. 
In Portugal, in 1809, he was left for dead in an English 
battery, into which his company had penetrated without 
being able to hold it. Max, taken prisoner by the 
English, was sent to the Spanish hulks at the island of 
Cabrera, the most horrible of all stations for prisoners 
of war. His friends begged that he might receive the 
cross of the Legion of honor and the rank of major ; but 
the Emperor was then in Austria, and he reserved his 
favors for those who did brilliant deeds under his own 
eye : he did not like officers or men who allowed them- 
selves to be taken prisoner, and he was, moreover, much 
dissatisfied with affairs in Portugal. Max was held at 
Cabrera from 1810 to 1814.^ During those years he 

^ The cruelty of the Spaniards to the French prisoners at Ca- 
brera was very great. In the spring of 1811, H. M.'brig “Min- 
orca,” Captain Wormeley, was sent by Admiral Sir Charles 
Cotton, then commanding the Mediterranean fleet, to make a re- 
port of their condition. As she neared the island, the wretched 


The Two Brothers. 


189 


became utterly demoralized, for the hulks were like the 
gallej^s, minus crime and infamy. At the outset, to 
maintain his personal free will, and protect himself 
against the corruption which made that horrible prison 
unworthy of a civilized people, the handsome young 
captain killed in a duel (for duels were fought on those 
hulks in a space scarcely six feet square) seven bullies 
among his fellow-prisoners, thus ridding the island of 
their tyranny to the great joy of the other victims. 
After this. Max reigned supreme on his hulk, thanks to 
the wonderful ease and address with which he handled 
weapons, to his bodily strength, and also to his extreme 
cleverness. 

But he, in turn, committed arbitrary acts ; there were 
those who curried favor with him, and worked his will, 
and became his minions. In that school of misery, 
where bitter minds dreamed only of vengeance, where 
the sophistries hatched in such brains were laying up, 
inevitably, a store of evil thoughts. Max became utterly 
demoralized. He listened to the opinions of those who 
longed for fortune at any price, and did not shrink from 
the results of criminal actions, provided they were done 
without discovery. When peace was proclaimed, in April, 

prisoners swam out to meet her. They were reduced to skin and 
bone ; many of them were naked ; and their miserable condition 
tso moved the seamen of tiie “Minorca” that they came aft to the 
quarter-deck, and asked permission to subscribe three days’ ra- 
tions for the relief of the sufferers. Captain Wormeley carried 
away some of the prisoners; and his report to Sir Charles Cotton, 
being sent to the Admiralty, was made the basis of a remonstrance 
on the part of the British government with Spain on the subject of 
its cruelties. Sir Charles Cotton despatched Captain Wormeley a 
second time to Cabrera with a good many liead of live cattle, and 
a large supply of other provisions. — Tii. 


140 


The Two Brothers. 


1814, he left the island, depraved though still innocent. 
On his return to Issoudun he found his father and 
mother dead. Like others who give way to their 
passions and make life, as they call it, short and sweet, 
the Gilets had died in the almshouse in the utmost pov- 
erty. Immediately after his return, the news of Napo- 
leon’s landing at Cannes spread through France ; Max 
could do no better than go to Paris and ask for his rank 
as major and for his cross. The marshal who was at 
that time minister of war remembered the brave con- 
duct of Captain Gilet in Portugal. He put him in the 
Guard as captain, which gave him the grade of major 
in the infantiy ; but he could not get him the cross. 
“ The Emperor says that you will know how to win it 
at the first chance,” said the marshal. In fact, the 
Emperor did put the brave captain on his hst for deco- 
ration the evening after the fight at Fleurus, where 
Gilet distinguished himself. 

After the battle of Waterloo Max retreated to the 
Loire. At the time of the disbandment, Marshal Feltre 
refused to recognize Max’s grade as major, or his claim 
to the cross. The soldier of Napoleon returned to Is- 
soudun in a state of exasperation that may well be con- 
ceived ; he declared he would not serve without either 
rank or cross. The war-office considered these condi- 
tions presumptuous in a young man of twenty-five with- 
out a name, who might, if they were granted, become a 
colonel at thirty. Max accordingly sent in his resigna- 
tion. The mdjor — for among themselves Bonapartists 
recognized the grades obtained in 1815 — thus lost the 
pittance called half-pay which was allowed to the offi- 
cers of the army of the Loire. But all Issoudun was 
roused at the sight of the brave young fellow left with 


The Two Brothers. 


141 


only twenty napoleons in his possession ; and the mayor 
gave him a place in his office with a salary of six hun- 
dred francs. Max kept it a few months, then gave it 
up of his own accord, and was replaced by a captain 
named Carpentier, w'ho, like himself, had remained 
faithful to Napoleon. 

By this time Gilet had become grand master of the 
Knights of Idleness, and was leading a life which lost 
him the good-will of the chief people of the town ; who, 
however, did not openly make the fact known to him, 
for he was violent and much feared by all, even by the 
officers of the old army who, like himself, had refused to 
serve under the Bourbons, and had come home to plant 
their cabbages in Berr}^ The little affection felt for 
the Bourbons among the natives of Issoudun is not sur- 
prising when we recall the history which we have just 
given. In fact, considering its size and lack of impor- 
tance, the little place contained more Bonapartists than 
any other town in France. These men became, as is 
well known, nearly all Liberals. 

In Issoudun and its neighborhood there were a dozen 
officers in Max’s position. These men admired him 
and made him their leader, — with the exception, how- 
ever, of Carpentier, his successor, and a certain Mon- 
sieur Mignonnet, ex-captain in the artillery of the 
Guard. Carpentier, a cavalry officer risen from the 
ranks, had married into one of the best families in 
the town, — the Borniche-Herau. Mignonnet, brought 
up at the l^cole Polytechnique, had seiwied in a corps 
which held itself superior to all others. In the Imperial 
armies there were two shades of distinction among the 
soldiers themselves. A majority of them felt a con- 
tempt for the bourgeois, the “ civilian,” fully equal to 
% 


142 


The Two Brothers. 


the contempt of nobles for their serfs, or conquerors for 
the conquered. Such men did not alwa3's observe the 
laws of honor in their dealings with civilians ; nor did 
they much blame those who rode rough-shod over the 
bourgeoisie. The others, and particularly the artilleiy, 
perhaps because of its republicanism, never adopted the 
doctrine of a military France and a civil France, the 
tendency of which was nothing less than to make two 
nations. So, although Major Potel and Captain Renard, 
two officers living in the Rome suburb, were friends 
to Maxence Gilet “through thick and thin,” Major 
Mignonnet and Captain Carpentier took sides with 
the bourgeoisie, and thought his conduct unworthy of 
a man of honor. 

Major Mignonnet, a lean little man, full of dignity, 
busied himself with the problems which the steam-engine 
requires us to solve, and lived in a modest wa}^ taking 
his social intercourse with Monsieur and Madame Car- 
pentier. His gentle manners and ways, and his scien- 
tific occupations won him the respect of the whole town ; 
and it was frequently said of him and of Captain Car- 
pentier that they were “quite another thing” from Ma- 
jor Potel and Captain Renard, Maxence, and other 
frequenters of the cafe Militaire, who retained the 
soldierly manners and the defective morals of the 
Empire. 

At the time when Madame Bridau returned to Issou- 
dun. Max was excluded from the society of the place. 
He showed, moreover, proper self-respect in never pre- 
senting himself at the club, and in never complaining of 
the s'evere reprobation that was shown him ; although 
he was the handsomest, the most elegant, and the best 
dressed man in the place, spent a great deal of mone}’, 


The Two Brothers. 


143 


and kept a horse, — a thing as amazing at Tssoudun as 
the horse of Lord Byron at Venice. We are now to see 
how it was that Maxence, poor and without apparent 
means, was able to become the dandy of the town. The 
shameful conduct which earned him the contempt of 
all scrupulous or religious persons was connected with 
the interests which brought Agathe and Joseph to 
Issoudun. 

Judging by the audacity of his bearing, and the ex- 
pression of his face. Max cared little for public opinion ; 
he expected, no doubt, to take his revenge some day, 
and to lord it over those who now condemned him. 
Moreover, if the bourgeoisie of Issoudun thought ill 
of him, the admiration he excited among the common 
people counterbalanced their opinion ; his courage, his 
dashing appearance, his decision of character, could not 
fail to please the masses, to whom his degradation was, 
for the most part, unknown, and indeed the bourgeoisie 
themselves scarcely suspected its extent. Max plaj^ed 
a role at Issoudun which was something like that of 
the blacksmith in the “ Fair Maid of Perth ; ” he was the 
champion of Bonapartism and the Opposition ; they 
counted upon him as the burghers of Perth counted 
upon Smith on great occasions. A single incident will 
put this hero and victim of the Hundred-Days into clear 
relief. 

In 1819, a battalion commanded by royalist officers, 
young men just out of the Maison-Rouge, passed 
through Issoudum on its way to go into garrison at 
Bourges. Not knowing what to do with themselves in 
so constitutional a place as Issoudun, these young gen- 
tlemen went to while away the time at the cafe Militaire. 
In every provincial town there is a military cafe. That 


144 


The Two Brothers. 


of Issoudun, built on the place d’Armes at an angle of 
the rampart, and kept by the widow of an officer, was 
naturally the rendezvous of Bonapartists, chiefly officers 
on half pay, and others who shared Max’s opinions, to 
whom the politics of the town allowed free expression 
of their idolatry for the Emperor. Ever^" 3 ’ear, dating 
from 1816, a banquet was given in Issoudun to com- 
memorate the anniversary of his coronation. The tliree 
royalists who first entered asked for the newspapers, 
among others, for the “ Quotidienne” and the “ Dra- 
peau Blanc.” The politics of Issoudun, especially those 
of the cafe Militaire, did not allow of such royalist jour- 
nals. The establishment had none but the “Com- 
merce,” — a name which the “ Constitutionel ” was 
compelled to adopt for several years after it was sup- 
pressed by the government. But as, in its first issue 
under the new name, the leading article began with 
these words, “ Commerce is essentially constitutional,” 
people continued to call it the “ Constitutionel,” the 
subscribers all understanding the sly play of words 
which begged them to pay no attention to the label, as 
the wine would be the same. 

The fat landlady replied from her seat at the desk 
that she did not take those papers. “ What papers do 
you take then?” said one of the officers, a captain. 
The waiter, a little fellow in a blue cloth jacket, with 
an apron of coarse linen tied over it, brought the 
“ Commerce.” 

“ Is that your paper? Have you no other? ” 

“ No,” said the waiter, “ that ’s the only one.” 

The captain tore it up, flung the pieces on the floor, 
and spat upon them, calling out, — 

“ Bring dominos ! ” 


The Two Brothers, 


145 


In ten minutes the news of the insult offered to the 
Constitutional Opposition and the Liberal party, in 
the supersacred person of its revered journal, which 
attacked priests with the courage and the wit we all 
remember, spread throughout the town and into the 
houses like light itself ; it was told and repeated from 
place to place. One phrase was on everybody’s lips, — 

“ Let us tell Max ! ” 

Max soon heard of it. The royalist officers were 
still at their game of dominos when that hero entered 
the caf4, accompanied by Major Potel and Captain 
Renard, and followed by at least thirty young men, 
curious to see the end of the affair, most of whom re- 
mained outside in the street. The room was soon full. 

“ Waiter, my newspaper,” said Max, in a quiet voice. 

Then a little comedy was played. The fat hostess, 
with a timid and conciliatory air, said, “ Captain, I 
have lent it ! ” 

“ Send for it,” cried one of Max’s friends. 

“Can’t you do without it?” said the waiter; “we 
have not got it.” 

The young royalists were laughing and casting side- 
long glances at the new-comers. 

“ They have torn it up ! ” cried a youth of the town, 
looking at the feet of the young royalist captain. 

“ Who has dared to destroy that paper? ” demanded 
Max, in a thundering voice, his eyes flashing as he rose 
with his arms crossed. 

“ And we spat upon it,” replied the three young offi- 
cers, also rising, and looking at Max. 

“You have insulted the whole town!” said Max, 
turning livid. 

“ Well, what of that? ” asked the youngest officer. 

10 


146 


The Two Brothers. 


With a dexter%, quickness, and audacity which the 
young men did not foresee, Max slapped the face of the 
officer nearest to him, saying, — 

“ Do you understand French? ” 

They fought near 63 ', in the allee de Frapesle, three 
against three ; for Potel and Renard would not allow 
Max to deal with the officers alone. Max killed his 
man. Major Potel wounded his so severe!}", that the 
unfortunate 3 "Oung man, the son of a good family, died 
in the hospital the next da}". As for the third, he got 
off with a sword cut, after wounding his adversary. 
Captain Renard. The battalion left for Bourges that 
night. This affair, which was noised throughout Berry, 
set Max up definitely as a hero. 

The Knights of Idleness, who were all young, the eld- 
est not more than twenty-five years old, admired Max- 
ence. Some among them, far from sharing the prudery 
and the strict notions of their families concerning his con- 
duct, envied his present position and thought him fortu- 
nate. Under such a leader, the Order did great things. 
After the month of May, 1817, never a week passed that 
the town was not thrown into an uproar by some new piece 
of mischief. Max, as a matter of honor, imposed certain 
conditions upon the Knights. Statutes were drawn up. 
These young demons grew as vigilant as the pupils of 
Amoros, — bold as hawks, agile at all exercises, clever 
and strong as Criminals. They trained themselves in 
climbing roofs, scaling houses, jumping and walking 
noiselessly, mixing mortar, and walling up doors. They 
collected an arsenal of ropes, ladders, tools, and dis- 
guises. After a time the Knights of Idleness attained 
to the beau -ideal of malicious mischief, not only as 
to the accomplishment but, still more, in the invention 


The Two Brothers. 


147 


of their pranks. They came at last to possess the gen- 
ius for evil that Panurge so much delighted in ; which 
provokes laughter, and covers its victims with such 
ridicule that they dare not complain. Naturally, these 
sons of the good families of Issoudun possessed and 
obtained information in their households, which gave 
them the waj^s and means for the perpetration of their 
outrages. 

Sometimes the young devils incarnate lay in ambush 
along the Graiid’rue or the Basse rue, two streets which 
are, as it were, the arteries of the town, into which 
many little side streets open. Crouching, with their 
heads to the wind, in the angles of the wall and at the 
corners of the streets, at the hour when all the house- 
holds were hushed in their first sleep, they called to 
each other in tones of terror from ambush to ambush 
along the whole length of the town : “ What ’s the mat- 
ter?” “ What is it?” till the repeated cries woke up 
the citizens, who appeared in their shirts and cotton 
night-caps, with lights in their hands, asking questions 
of one another, holding the strangest colloquies, and 
exhibiting the queerest faces. 

A certain poor bookbinder, who was very old, be- 
lieved in hobgoblins. Like most provincial artisans, he 
worked in a small basement shop. The Knights, dis- 
guised as devils, invaded the place in the middle of 
the night, put him into his own cutting-press, and left 
him shrieking to himself like the souls in hell. The 
poor man roused the neighbors, to whom he related the 
apparitions of Lucifer ; and as they had no means of un- 
deceiving him, he was driven nearly insane. 

In the middle of a severe winter, the Knights took 
down the chimney of the collector of taxes, and built it 


148 


The Two Brothers. 


up again in one night apparently as it was before, with- 
out making the slightest noise, or leaving the least 
trace of their work. But they so arranged the inside 
of the chimney as to send all the smoke into the house. 
The collector suffered for two months before he found 
out wh}" his chimne}", which had alwa^^s drawn so well, 
and of which he had often boasted, pla3xd him such 
tricks ; he was then obliged to build a new one. 

At another time, they put three trusses of ha}^ dusted 
with brimstone, and a quantity of oiled paper down the 
chimney of a pious old woman who was a friend of 
Madame Hochon. In the morning, when she came to 
light her fire, the poor creature, who was yery gentle 
and kindly, imagined she had started a volcano. The 
fire-engines came, the whole population rushed to her 
assistance. Several Knights were among the firemen, 
and they deluged the old woman’s house, till they had 
frightened her with a fiood, as much as they had terri- 
fied her with the fire. She was made ill with fear. 

When they wished to make some one spend the 
night under arms and in mortal terror, they wrote an 
anon^'mous letter warning him that he was about to 
be robbed ; then they stole softly, one by one, round 
the walls of his house, or under his windows, whistling 
as if to call each other. 

One of their famous performances, which long amused 
the town, where in fact it is still related, was to write 
a letter to aU the heirs of a miserl}^ old lady who was 
likely to leave a large property, announcing her death, 
and requesting them to be promptly on hand when the 
seals were affixed. Eighty persons arrived from Vatan, 
Saint-Florent, Vierzon and the neighboring countrj^ 
all in deep mourning, — widows with sons, children with 


The Two Brothers, 


149 


their fathers ; some in carrioles, some in wicker gigs, 
others in dilapidated carts. Imagine the scene between 
the old woman’s servant and the first arrivals ! and the 
consultations among the notaries ! It created a sort of 
riot in Issoudun. 

At last, one da}^ the sub-prefect woke up to a sense 
that this state of things was all the more intolerable be- 
cause it seemed impossible to find out who was at the 
bottom of it. Suspicion fell on several young men ; 
but as the National Guard was a mere name in Issou- 
dun, and there was no garrison, and the lieutenant 
of police had only eight gendarmes under him, so that 
there were no patrols, it was impossible to get any 
proof against them. The sub-prefect was immediately 
posted in the “ order of the night,” and considered 
thenceforth fair game. This functionary made a prac- 
tice of breakfasting on two fresh eggs. He kept chick- 
ens in his yard, and added to his mania for eating fresh 
eggs that of boiling them himself. Neither his wife 
nor his servant, in fact no one, according to him, knew 
how to boil an egg properly ; he did it watch in hand, 
and boasted that he earned oflT the palm of egg-boiling 
from all the world. For two years he had boiled his 
eggs with a success which earned him man}" witticisims. 
But now, every night for a whole month, the eggs were 
taken from his hen-house, and hard-boiled eggs substi- 
tuted. The sub-prefect was at his wits’ end, and lost 
his reputation as the sous-prefet a Voeuf. Finally he 
was forced to breakfast on other things. Yet he never 
suspected the Knights of Idleness, whose trick had 
been cautiously played. After this, Max managed to 
grease the sub-prefect’s stoves every night with an oil 
which sent forth so fetid a smell that it was impossible 


150 


The Two Brothers, 


for any one to stay in the house. Even that was not 
enough ; his wife, going to mass one morning, found her 
shawl glued together on the inside with some tenacious 
substance, so that she was obliged to go without it. 
The sub-prefect finally asked for another appointment. 
The cowardly submissiveness of this officer had much to 
do with firmly establishing the weird and comic author- 
ity of the Knights of Idleness. 

Beyond the rue des Minimes and the place Misere, a 
section of a quarter was at that time enclosed between 
an arm of the “ Riviere forcee ” on the lower side and 
the ramparts on the other, beginning at the place 
d’Armes and going as far as the pottery market. 
This irregular square is filled with poor-looking houses 
crowded one against the other, and divided here and 
there by streets so narrow that two persons cannot 
walk abreast. This section of the town, a sort of cour 
des Miracles, was occupied by poor people or persons 
working at trades that were little remunerative, — a 
X)opulation living in hovels, and buildings called pictu- 
resquely by the familiar term of “ blind houses.” From 
the earliest ages this has no doubt been an accursed 
quarter, the haunt of evil-doers ; in fact one thoroughfare 
is named “ the street of the Executioner.” For more 
than five centuries it has been customary for the exe- 
cutioner to have a red door at the entrance of his house. 
The assistant of the executioner of Chateauroux still 
lives there, — if we are to believe public rumor, for the 
townspeople never see him : the vine-dressers alone 
maintain an intercourse with this m3'sterious being, who 
inherits from his predecessors the gift of curing wounds 
and fractures. In the days when Issoudun assumed 
the airs of a caj^ital cit^^ the women of the town made 


The Two Brothers, 


151 


this section of it the scene of their wanderings. Here 
came the second-hand sellers of things that look as if 
they never could find a purchaser, old-clothes dealers 
whose wares infected the air ; in short, it was the ren- 
dezvous of that apocryphal population which is to be 
found in nearly all such purlieus of a city, where two 
or three Jews have gained an ascendency. 

At the corner of one of these gloomy streets in the 
livelier half of the quarter, there existed from 1815 to 
1823, and perhaps later, a public-house kept by a 
woman commonly called Mere Cognette. The house 
itself was tolerably well built, in courses of white stone, 
with the intermediary spaces filled in with ashlar and 
cement, one storey high with an attic above. Over the 
door was an enormous branch of pine, looking as though 
it were cast in Florentine bronze. As if this sj^mbol 
were not explanatory enough, the eye was arrested by 
the blue of a poster which was pasted over the doorway, 
and on which appeared, above the words “ Good Beer 
OF Mars,” the picture of a soldier pouring out, in the 
direction of a very decolletee woman, a jet of foam 
which spurted in an arched line from the pitcher to the 
glass which she was holding towards him; the whole 
of a color to make Delacroix swoon. 

The ground-floor was occupied by an immense hall 
serving both as kitchen and dining-room, from the beams . 
of which hung, suspended by huge nails, the provisions I 
needed for the custom of such a house. Behind this hall 
a winding staircase led to the upper storey ; at the foot 
of the staircase a door led into a low, long room lighted 
from one of those little provincial courts, so narrow, 
dark, and sunken between tall houses, as to seem like 
the flue of a chimney. Hidden by a shed, and con- 


152 


The Two Brothers. 


cealed from all eyes by walls, this low room was the 
place where the Bad Boys of Issoudun held their plen- 
ar}" court. Ostensibly, Pere Cognet boarded and lodged 
the country-people on market-da^^s ; secretly, he was 
landlord to the Knights of Idleness. This man, who 
was formerly groom in a rich household, had ended by 
marrjdng La Cognette, a cook in a good family. The 
suburb of Rome still continues, like Italj^ and Poland, 
to follow the Latin custom of putting a feminine termi- 
nation to the husband’s name and giving it to the 
wife. 

B}^ uniting their savings Pere Cognet and his spouse 
had managed to bu}^ their present house. La Cognette, 
a woman of fort}^, tall and plump, with the nose of a 
Roxelane, a swarthy skin, jet-black hair, brown e3^es 
that were round and lively", and a general air of mirth 
and intelligence, was selected by Maxence Gilet, on 
account of her character and her talent for cookerj^, as 
the Leonarde of the Order. Pere Cognet might be 
about fift3"-six years old ; he was thick-set, ver3" much 
under his wife’s rule, and, according to a witticism 
which she was fond of repeating, he only saw things 
with a good eye — for he was blind of the other. In 
the course of seven years, that is, from 1816 to 1823 , 
neither wife nor husband had betra3^ed in the smallest 
particular what went on nightl3" at their house, or who 
the3^ were that shai-ed in the plot ; the3^ felt the live- 
liest regard for all the Knights ; their devotion was 
absolute. But this may seem less creditable if we 
remember that self-interest was the securit3" of their 
affection and their silence. No matter at what hour of 
the night the Knights dropped in upon the tavern, the 
moment the3’^ knocked in a certain wa3^ Pere Cognet, 


The Two Brothers. 


163 


recognizing the signal, got up, lit the fire and the can- 
dles, opened the door, and went to the cellar for a par- 
ticular wine that was laid in expressly for the Order ; 
while La Cognette cooked an excellent supper, eaten 
either before or after the expeditions, which were 
usually planned the previous evening or in the course 
of the preceding day. 


154 


The Two Brothers, 


VIII. 

While Joseph and Madame Bridau were journeying 
from Orleans to Issoudun, the Knights of Idleness 
perpetrated one of their best tricks. An old Spaniard, 
a former prisoner of war, who after the peace had 
remained in the neighborhood, where he did a small 
business in grain, came early one morning to market, 
leaving his empty cart at the foot of the tower of 
Issoudun. Maxence, who arrived at a rendezvous of 
the Knights, appointed on that occasion at the foot 
of the tower, was soon assailed with the whispered 
question, “What are we to do to-night?” 

“Here’s Pm-e Fario’s cart,” he answered. “I 
nearly cracked my shins over it. Let us get it up on 
the embankment of the tower in the first place, and 
we ’ll make up our minds afterwards.” 

When Richard Coeur-de-Lion built tlie tower of 
Issoudun he raised it, as we have said, on the ruins 
of the basilica, which itself stood above the Roman 
temple and the Celtic Dun. These ruins, each of 
which represents a period of several centuries, form a 
mound big with the monuments of three distinct ages. 
The tower is, therefore, the apex of a cone, from which 
the descent is equally steep on all sides, and which is 
only approached b}^ a series of steps. To give in a 
few words an idea of the height of this tower, we may 
compare it to the obelisk of Luxor on its pedestal. 
The pedestal of the tower of Issoudun, which hid 


The Two Brothers. 


155 


within its breast such archaeological treasures, was 
eighty feet high on the side towards the town. In an 
hour the cart was taken off its wheels and hoisted, 
piece by piece, to the top of the embankment at the 
foot of the tower itself, — a work that was somewhat 
like that of the soldiers who carried the artillery over 
the pass of the Grand Saint-Bernard. The cart was 
then remounted on its wheels, and the Knights, 
by this time hungry and thirsty, returned to Mere 
Cognette’s, where they were soon seated round the 
table in the low room, laughing at the grimaces Fario 
would make when he came after his barrow in the 
morning. 

The Knights, naturally, did not plaj'^ such capers 
every night. The genius of Sganarelle, Mascarille, 
and Scapin combined would not have sufficed to invent 
three hundred and sixty-five pieces of mischief a year. 
In the first place, circumstances were not always pro- 
pitious : sometimes the moon shone clear, or the last 
prank had greatlj^ irritated their betters ; then one or 
another of their number refused to share in some pro- 
posed outrage because a relation was involved. But if 
the scamps were not at Mere Cognette’s every night, 
they always met during the day, enjoying together the 
legitimate pleasures of hunting, or the autumn vin- 
tages and the winter skating. Among this assemblage 
of twenty 3^ouths, all of them at war with the social 
somnolence of the place, there were some who were 
more closely allied than others to Max, and who made 
him their idol. A character like his often fascinates 
other 3"ouths. The two grandsons of Madame Hochon 
— Fran9ois Hochon and Baruch Borniche — were his 
henchmen. These young fellows, accepting the gen- 


156 


The Two Brothers. 


eral opinion of the left-handed parentage of Lousteau, 
looked upon Max as their cousin. Max, moreover, 
was liberal in lending them money for their pleasures, 
which their grandfather Hochon refused ; he took them 
hunting, let them see life, and exercised a much greater 
influence over them than their own famity. They were 
both orphans, and were kept, although each had at- 
tained his majority, under the guardianship of Monsieur 
Hochon, for reasons which will be explained when Mon- 
sieur Hochon himself comes upon the scene. 

At this particular moment Fraii9ois and Baruch (we 
will call them by their Christian names for the sake of 
clearness) were sitting, one on each side of Max, at 
the middle of a table that was rather ill lighted by the 
fuliginous gleams of four tallow candles of eight to the 
pound. A dozen to fifteen bottles of various wines had 
just been drunk, for only eleven of the Knights were 
present. Baruch — whose name indicates pretty clearly 
that Calvinism still kept some hold on Issoudun — 
said to Max, as the wine was beginning to unloose all 
tongues, — 

“You are threatened in your stronghold.” 

“ What do you mean b}" that? ” asked Max. 

“ Why, my grandmother has had a letter from 
Madame Bridau, who is her goddaughter, saying that 
she and her son are coming here. My grandmother 
has been getting two rooms ready for them.” 

“What’s that to me?” said Max, taking up his 
glass and swallowing the contents at a gulp with a 
comic gesture. 

Max was then thirty-four years old. A candle 
standing near him threw a gleam upon his soldierly 
face, lit up his brow, and brought out admirably his 


The Two Brothers. 


157 


clear skin, his ardent eyes, his black and slightly curling 
hair, which had the brilliancy of jet. The hair grew vigor- 
ously upward from the forehead and temples, sharply 
defining those five black tongues which our ancestors 
used to call the “ five points.” Notwithstanding this 
abrupt contrast of black and white. Max’s face was very 
sweet, owing its charm to an outline like that which 
Raphael gave to the faces of his Madonnas, and to a 
well-cut mouth whose lips smiled graciously, giving an 
expression of countenance which Max had made dis- 
tinctively his own. The rich coloring which blooms on 
a Berrichon cheek added still further to his look of 
kindly good-humor. When he laughed heartUy, he 
showed thirty-two teeth worthy of the mouth of a 
pretty woman. In height about five feet six inches, 
the young man was admirably well-proportioned, — 
neither too stout nor yet too thin. His hands, carefully 
kept, were white and rather handsome ; but his feet 
recalled the suburb and the foot-soldier of the Empire. 
Max would certainly have made a good general of di- 
vision ; he had shoulders that were worth a fortune to 
a marshal of France, and a breast broad enough to wear 
all the orders of Europe. Every movement betrayed 
intelligence ; born with grace and charm, like nearly all 
the children of love, the noble blood of his real father 
came out in him. 

“ Don’t you know, Max,” cried the son of a former 
surgeon-major named Goddet — now the best doctor 
in the town — from the other end of the table, “that 
Madame Hochon’s goddaughter is the sister of Rouget ? 
If she is coming here with her son, no doubt she means 
to make sure of getting the property when he dies, and 
then — good-by to your harvest ! ” 


1^8 


The Two Brothers. 


Max frowned. Then, with a look which ran from 
one face to another all round the table, he watched the 
effect of this announcement on the minds of those 
present, and again replied, — 

“ What ’s that to me ? ” 

“ But,” said Frangois, “ I should think that if old 
Rouget revoked his will, — in case he has made one in 
favor of the Rabouilleuse — ’’ 

Here Max cut short his henchman’s speech. “ I ’ve 
stopped the mouths of people who have dared to meddle 
with you, my dear Frangois,” he said ; “ and is this the 
way you pay your debts? You use a contemptuous 
nickname in speaking of a woman to whom I am known 
to be attached.” 

Max had never before said as much as this about his 
relations with the person to whom Frangois had just 
applied a name under which she was known at Issoudun. 
The late prisoner at Cabrera — the major of the grena- 
diers of the Guard — knew enough of what honor was 
to judge rightly as to the causes of the disesteem in 
which society held him. He had therefore never al- 
lowed an}" one, no matter who, to speak to him on the 
subject of Mademoiselle Flore Brazier, the servant-mis- 
tress of Jean- Jacques Rouget, so energetically termed a 
“slut” by the respectable Madame Hochon. Every- 
body knew it was too ticklish a subject with Max, ever 
to speak of it unless he began it ; and hitherto he had 
never begun it. To risk his anger or irritate him was 
altogether too dangerous ; so that even his best friends 
had never joked him about the Rabouilleuse. When 
they talked of his liaison with the girl before Major 
Potel and Captain Renard, with whom he lived on in- 
timate terms, Potel would reply, — 


The Two Brothers. 


159 


“ If he is the natural brother of Jean-Jacques Rougct 
where else would you have him live ? ” 

“ Besides, after all,” added Captain Renard, “ the girl 
is a worthless piece, and if Max does live with her 
where ’s the harm ? ” 

After this merited snub, Fran9ois could not at once 
catch up the thread of his ideas ; but he was still less 
able to do so when Max said to him, gently, — 

“ Go on.” 

“ Faith, no! ” cried Francois. 

“ You need n’t get angry. Max,” said young Goddet ; 
“ did n’t we agree to talk freely to each other at Mere 
Cognette’s ? Should n’t we all be mortal enemies if we 
remembered outside what is said, or thought, or done 
here ? All the town calls Flore Brazier the Rabouilleuse ; 
and if Fran9ois did happen to let the nickname slip 
out, is that a crime against the Order of Idleness ? ” 

“ No,” said Max, ‘‘ but against our personal friend- 
ship. However, I thought better of it ; I recollected we 
were in session, and that was why I said ‘ Go on.’ ” 

A deep silence followed. The pause became so em- 
barrassing for the whole company that Max broke it by 
exclaiming : — 

‘•I’ll go on for him [sensation], — for all of you 
[amazement], — and tell you what you are thinking 
[profound sensation]. You think that Flore, the 
Rabouilleuse, La Brazier, the housekeeper of Pere Rou- 
get, — . for they call him so, that old bachelor, who 
can never have any children ! — you think, I say, that 
that woman supplies all my wants ever since I came 
back to Issoudun. If I am able to throw three hundred 
francs a month to the dogs, and treat you to suppers, — 
as I do to-night, — and lend money to all of you, you 


160 


The Two Brothers, 


think I get the gold out of Mademoiselle Flore Brazier’s 
purse? Well, yes [profound sensation]. Yes, ten 
thousand times yes ! Yes, Mademoiselle Brazier is 
aiming straight for the old man’s property.” 

“ She gets it from father to son,” observed Goddet, 
in his corner. 

You think,” continued Max, smiling at Goddet’s 
speech, “ that I intend to marry Flore when Fere Rou- 
get dies, and so this sister and her son, of whom I hear 
to-night for the first time, will endanger my future ? ” 

“ That’s just it,” cried Fran9ois. 

“ That is what every one thinks who is sitting round 
this table,” said Baruch. 

“ Well, don’t be uneasy, friends,” answered Max. 
“Forewarned is forearmed! Now then, I address the 
Knights of Idleness. If, to get rid of these Parisians I 
need the help of the Order, will you lend me a hand ? 
Oh 1 within the limits we have marked out for our fool- 
eries,” he added hastily, perceiving a general hesita- 
tion. “ Do you suppose I want to kill them, — poison 
them? Thank God I’m not an idiot. Besides, if the 
Bridaus succeed, and Flore has nothing but what she 
stands in, I should be satisfied ; do you understand 
that? I love her enough to prefer her to Mademoiselle 
Fichet, — if Mademoiselle Fichet would have me.” 

Mademoiselle Fichet was the richest heiress in Issou- 
dun, and the hand of the daughter counted for much in 
the reported passion of the younger Goddet for the 
mother. Frankness of speech is a pearl of such price 
that all the Knights rose to their feet as one man. 

“You are a fine fellow. Max ! ” 

“ Well said. Max ; we ’ll stand by you ! ” 

“ A fig for the Bridaus ! ” 


The Two Brothers. 


161 


“We ’ll bridle them ! ” 

“ After all, it is only three swains to a shepherdess.” 

“ The deuce ! Pere Lousteau loved Madame Eouget ; 
is n’t it better to love a housekeeper who is not 
yoked ? ” 

“ If the defunct Rouget was Max’s father, the affair is 
in the family.” 

“ Liberty of opinion now-a-days ! ” 

“ Hurrah for Max ! ” 

“ Down with all hypocrites ! ” 

“ Here ’s a health to the beautiful Flore ! ” 

Such were the eleven responses, acclamations, and 
toasts shouted forth by the Knights of Idleness, and 
characteristic, we may remark, of their excessively re- 
laxed morality. It is now easy to see what interest 
Max had • in becoming their grand master. By leading 
the young men of the best families in their follies and 
amusements, and by doing them services, he meant to 
create a support for himself when the day for recover- 
ing his position came. He rose gracefully and waved 
his glass of claret, while all the others waited eagerly 
for the coming allocution. 

“ As a mark of the ill-will I bear you, I wish you 
all a mistress who is equal to the beautiful Flore ! As 
to this irruption of relations, I don’t feel any pres- 
ent uneasiness ; and as to the future, we ’ll see what 
comes — ” 

“ Don’t let us forget Fario’s cart !” 

“ Hang it ! that ’s safe enough ! ” said Goddet. 

“ Oh ! I ’ll engage to settle that business,” cried 
Max. ‘*Be in the market-place early, all of you, and let 
me know when the old fellow goes for his cart.” 

It was striking half-past three in the morning as the 
11 


162 


The Two Brothers. 


Knights slipped out in silence to go to their homes ; 
gliding close to the walls of the houses without making 
the least noise, shod as they were in list shoes. Max 
slowly returned to the place Saint-Jean, situated in the 
upper part of the town, between the port Saint- Jean 
and the port Vilatte, the quarter of the rich bourgeoisie. 
Maxence Gilet had concealed his fears, but the news 
had struck home. His experience on the hulks at Ca- 
brera had taught him a dissimulation as deep and thor- 
ough as his corruption. First, and above all else, the 
forty thousand francs a year from landed property 
which old Rouget owned was, let it be clearly under- 
stood, the constituent element of Max’s passion for 
Flore Brazier. By his present bearing it is easy to see 
how much confidence the woman had given him in the 
financial future she expected to obtain through the in- 
fatuation of the old bachelor. Nevertheless, the news 
of the arrival of the legitimate heirs was of a nature to 
shake Max’s faith in Flore’s influence. Rouget’s sav- 
ings, accumulating during the last seventeen years, still 
stood in his own name ; and even if the will, which 
Flore declared had long been made in her favor, were 
revoked, these savings at least might be secured by 
putting them in the name of Mademoiselle Brazier. 

“ That fool of a girl never told me, in all these seven 
years, a word about the sister and nephews ! ” cried 
Max, turning from the rue de la Mar mouse into the rue 
I’Avenier. ‘ ‘ Seven hundred and fifty thousand francs 
placed with different notaries at Bourges, and Vierzon, 
and Chateauroux, can’t be turned into money and put 
into the Funds in a week, without everybody kribwing it 
in this gossiping place ! The most important thing is 
to get rid of these relations ; as soon as they are driven 


The Two Brothers. 


163 


away we ought to make haste to secure the property. 
I must think it over.’’ 

Max was tired. By help of a pass-key, he let him- 
self into Pere Rouget’s house, and went to bed without 
making any noise, saying to himself, — 

“ To-morrow, my thoughts will be clear.” 

It is now necessary to relate where the sultana of the 
place Saint- Jean picked up the nickname of “ Rabouil- 
leuse,” and how she came to be the quasi-mistress of 
Jean- Jacques Rouget’s home. 

As old Doctor Rouget, the father of Jean- Jacques 
and Madame Bridau, advanced in years, he began to 
perceive the nonentity of his son ; he then treated him 
harshly, trying to break him into a routine that might 
serve in place of intelligence. He thus, though uncon- 
sciously, prepared him to submit to the yoke of the 
first tyranny that threw its halter over his head. 

Coming home one day from his professional round, 
the malignant and vicious old man came across a be- 
witching little girl at the edge of some fields that lay 
along the avenue de Tivoli. Hearing the horse, the 
child sprang up from the bottom of one of the many 
brooks which are to be seen from the heights of Issou- 
dun, threading the meadows like ribbons of silver on a 
green robe. Naiad-like, she rose suddenly on the doc- 
tor’s vision, showing the loveliest virgin head that 
painters ever dreamed of. Old Rouget, who knew the 
whole country-side, did not know this miracle of beauty. 
The child, who was half naked, wore a forlorn little 
petticoat of coarse woollen stuff, woven in alternate 
stripes of brown and white, full of holes and very ragged. 
A sheet of rough writing paper, tied on by a shred of 
osier, served her for a hat. Beneath this paper — cov- 


164 


The Two Brothers. 


ered with pot-hooks and round O’s, from which it derived 
the name of “ schoolpaper ” — the loveliest mass of 
blonde hair that ever a daughter of Eve could have de- 
sired, was twisted up, and held in place by a species of 
comb made to comb out the tails of horses. Her pretty 
tanned bosom, and her neck, scarcely covered by a 
ragged fichu which was once a Madras handkerchief, 
showed edges of the white skin below the exposed and 
sun-burned parts. One end of her petticoat was drawn 
between the legs and fastened with a huge pin in front, 
giving that garment the look of a pair of bathing draw- 
ers. The feet and the legs, which could be seen through 
the clear water in which she stood, attracted the eye by 
a delicacy which was worthy of a sculptor of the middle 
ages. The charming limbs exposed to the sun had 
a ruddy tone that was not without beauty of its own. 
The neck and bosom were worthy of being wrapped in 
silks and cashmeres ; and the nymph had blue e^^es 
fringed with long lashes, whose glance might have made 
a painter or a poet fall upon his knees. The doctor, 
enough of an anatomist to trace the exquisite figure, rec- 
ognized the loss it would be to art if the lines of such a 
model were destroyed by the hard toil of the fields. 

“ Where do you come from, little girl? I have never 
seen you before,” said the old doctor, then sixty-two 
years of age. This scene took place in the month of 
September, 1799. 

“ I belong in Vatan,” she answered. 

Hearing Rouget’s voice, an ill-looking man, standing 
at some distance in the deeper water^f^ of the brook, 
raised his head. “What are you about, Flore?” he 
said, “ While you are talking instead of catching, the 
creatures will get away.” 


The Two Brothers. 


165 


“ Why have you come here from Vatan?” continued 
the doctor, paying no heed to the interruption. 

“ I am catching crabs for my uncle Brazier here.” 

BabouiUer is a Berrichon word which admirably de- 
scribes the thing it is intended to express ; namely, the 
action of troubling the water of a brook, making it 
boil and bubble with a branch whose end-shoots spread 
out like a racket. The crabs, frightened by this opera- 
ation, which they do not understand, come hastily to 
the surface, and in their flurry rush into the net the 
flsher has laid for them at a little distance. Flore 
Brazier held her rabouilloir in her hand with the natu- 
ral grace of childlike innocence. 

“ Has your uncle got permission to hunt crabs? ” 

“ Hey ! are not we all under a Republic that is one 
and indivisible ? ” cried the uncle from his station. 

“We are under a Directory,” said the doctor, “ and 
I know of no law which allows a man to come from 
Vatan and flsh in the territor}^ of Issoudun ; ” then 
he said to Flore, “ Have you got a mother, little 
one ! ” 

“No, monsieur; and my father is in the asylum at 
Bourges. He went mad from a sun-stroke he got in the 
fields.” 

“ How much do you earn? ” 

“ Five sous a day while the season lasts ; I catch ’em 
as far as the Braisne. In harvest time, I glean; in 
winter, I spin.” 

“ You are about twelve years old?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“ Do you want to come with me? You shall be well 
fed and well dressed, and have some pretty shoes.” 

“ No, my niece will stay with me ; I am responsible 


166 


The Two Brothers. 


to God and man for her,” said Uncle Brazier who had 
come up to them. “ I am her guardian, d’ye see? ” 

The doctor kept his countenance, and checked a smile 
which might have escaped most people at the aspect of 
the man. The guardian wore a peasant’s hat, rotted by 
sun and rain, eaten like the leaves of a cabbage that has 
harbored several caterpillars, and mended, here and 
there, with white thread. Beneath the hat was a dark 
and sunken face, in which the mouth, nose, and eyes, 
seemed four black spots. His forlorn jacket was a bit 
of patchwork, and his trousers were of crash towelling. 

“ I am Doctor Rouget,” said that individual ; “ and as 
you are the guardian of the child, bring her to my house, 
in the place Saint-Jean. It will not be a bad da^^’s 
work for you ; nor for her, either.” 

Without waiting for an answer, and sure that Uncle 
Brazier would soon appear with his pretty rabouilleuse^ 
Doctor Rouget set spurs to his horse and returned to 
Issoudun. He had hardly sat down to dinner, before 
his cook announced the arrival of the citoyen and citoy- 
enne Brazier. 

“ Sit down,” said the doctor to the uncle and niece. 

Flore and her guardian, still barefooted, looked round 
the doctor’s dining-room with wondering eyes ; never 
having seen its like before. 

The house, which Rouget inherited from the Des- 
coings estate, stands in the middle of the place Saint- 
Jean, a so-called square, very long and very narrow, 
planted with a few sickly lindens. The houses in this 
part of the town are better built than elsewhere, and 
that of the Descoings’s was one of the finest. It stands 
oi)posite to the house of Monsieur Hochon, and has 
three windows in front on the first storey, and a porte- 


The Two Brothers. 


167 


cochere on the ground-floor which gives entrance to a 
courtyard, beyond which lies the garden. Under the 
archway of the porte-cochere is the door of a large hall 
lighted by two windows on the street. The kitchen is 
behind this hall, part of the space being used for a 
staircase which leads to the upper floor and to the 
attic above that. Beyond the kitchen is a wood-shed 
and wash-house, a stable for two horses and a coach- 
house, over which are some little lofts for the storage 
of oats, hay, and straw, where, at that time, the doctor’s 
servant slept. 

The hall which the little peasant and her uncle ad- 
mired with such wonder is decorated with wooden 
carvings of the time of Louis XV., painted gray, and 
a handsome marble chimney-piece, over which Flore 
beheld herself in a large mirror without an}" upper divi- 
sion and with a carved and gilded frame. On the pan- 
elled walls of the room, from space to space, hung 
several pictures, the spoil of various religious houses, 
such as the abbeys of Deols, Issoudun, Saint-Gildas, 
La Free, Chezal-Benoit, Saint-Sulpice, and the convents 
of Bourges and Issoudun, which the liberality of our 
kings had enriched with the precious gift of the glorious 
works called forth by the Renaissance. Among the 
pictures obtained by the Descoings and inherited by 
Rouget, was a Holy Family by Albano, a Saint-Jerome 
of Domenichino, a Head of Christ by Gian Bellini, a 
Virgin of Leonardo, a Bearing of the Cross by Titian, 
which formerly belonged to the Marquis de Belabre 
(the one who sustained a siege and had his head cut 
off under Louis XIII.) ; a Lazarus of Paul Veronese, a 
Marriage of the Virgin by the priest Geiiois, two church 
paintings by Rubens, and a replica of a picture by 


168 


The Two Brothers, 


Perugino, done either Perugino himself or by Raphael ; 

and finall}", two Correggios and one Andrea del Sarto. 

The Descoings had culled these treasures from three 
hundred church pictures, without knowing their value, 
and selecting them only for their good preservation. 
Many were not only in magnificent frames, but some 
were still under glass. Perhaps it was the beauty of 
the frames and the value of the glass that led the 
Descoings to retain the pictures. The furniture of the 
room was not wanting in the sort of luxury we prize 
in these days, though at that time it had no value in 
Issoudun. The clock, standing on the mantle-shelf be- 
. tween two superb silver candlesticks with six branches, 
had an ecclesiastical splendor which revealed the hand of 
Boulle. The armchairs of carved oak, covered with 
tapestry- work due to the devoted industry of women 
of high rank, would be treasured in these da3"s, for 
each was surmounted with a crown and coat-of-arms. 
Between the windows stood a rich console, brought 
from some castle, on whose marble slab stood an im- 
mense China jar, in which the doctor kept his tobacco. 
But neither Rouget, nor his son, nor the cook, took the 
slightest care of all these treasures. They spat upon 
a hearth of exquisite delicacy, whose gilded mouldings 
were now green with verdigris. A handsome chande- 
lier, partly of semi-transparent porcelain, was peppered, 
like the ceiling from which it hung, with black speckles, 
bearing witness to the immunity enjoyed by the fiies. 
The Descoings had draped the windows with brocatelle 
curtains torn from the bed of some monastic prior. To 
the left of the entrance-door, stood a chest or coffer, 
worth many thousand francs, which the doctor now used 
for a sideboard. 


The Two Brothers. 


169 


Here, Fanchette,” cried Rouget to his cook, bring 
two glasses ; and give us some of the old wine.” 

Fanchette, a big Berrichon countrywoman, who was 
considered a better cook than even La Cognette, ran in 
to receive the order with a celerity which caid much for 
the doctor’s despotism, and something also for her own 
curiosity. 

“ What is an acre of vineyard worth in your 
parts ? ” asked the doctor, pouring out a glass of wine 
for Brazier. 

“ Three hundred francs in silver.” 

“Well, then! leave your niece here as my servant; 
she shall have three hundred francs in wages, and, as 
you are her guardian, you can take them.” 

Every year ? ” exclaimed Brazier, with his ej’es as 
wide as saucers. 

“I leave that to your conscience,” said the doctor. 

She is an orphan ; up to eighteen, she has no right to 
what she earns.” 

Twelve to eighteen — that’s six acres of vineyard !” 
said the uncle. “Ay, she’s a pretty one, gentle as a 
lamb, well made and active, and obedient as a kitten. 
She were the light o’ my poor brother’s eyes — ” 

“I will pay a year in advance,” observed the doctor. 

“Bless me! say two years, and I’ll leave her with 
you, for she ’ll be better off with you than with us ; m}^ 
wife beats her, she can’t abide her. There ’s noiie but 
I to stand up for her, and the little saint of a creature 
is as innocent as a new-born babe.” 

When he heard the last part of this speech, the doc- 
tor, struck by the word “ innocent,” made a sign to the 
uncle and took him out into the courtyard and from 
thence to the garden ; leaving the Rabouilleuse at the 


170 


The Two Brothers. 


table with Fanchette and Jean- Jacques, who immediately 
questioned her, and to whom she naively related her 
meeting with the doctor. 

“ There now, my little darling, good-by,” said Uncle 
Brazier, coming back and kissing Flore on the fore- 
head ; “ you can well say I Ve made your happiness by 
leaving you with this kind and worthy father of the 
poor ; you must obey him as you would me. Be a good 
girl, and behave nicely, and do everything he tells 
you.” 

‘‘Get the room over mine ready,” said the doctor to 
Fanchette. “ Little Flore — I am sure she is worthy of 
the name — will sleep there in future. To-morrow, we ’ll 
send for a shoemaker and a dressmaker. Put another 
plate on the table ; she shall keep us company.” 

That evening, all Issoudun talked of nothing else than 
the sudden appearance of the little rabouilleuse in Doc- 
tor Rouget’s house. In that region of satire the nick- 
name stuck to Mademoiselle Brazier before, during, and 
after the period of her good fortune. 

The doctor no doubt intended to do with Flore Bra- 
zier, in a small way, what Louis XV. did in a large 
one with Mademoiselle de Romans ; but he was too late 
about it ; Louis XV. was still young, whereas the doc- 
tor was in the flower of old age. From twelve to 
fourteen, the charming little Rabouilleuse lived a life 
of unmixed happiness. Always well-dressed, and often 
much better tricked out than the richest girls in Issou- 
dun, she sported a gold watch and jewels, given by 
the doctor to encourage her studies, and she had 
a master who taught her to read, write, and cipher. 
But the almost animal life of the true peasant had in- 
stilled into Flore such deep repugnance to the bitter 

V 


The Two Brothers. 


171 


cup of knowledge, that the doctor stopped her education 
at that point. His intentions with regard to the child, 
whom he cleansed, and clothed, and taught, and formed 
with a care which was all the more remarkable because 
he was thought to be utterly devoid of tenderness, 
were interpreted in a variety of wa}- s by the cackling 
society of the town, whose gossip often gave rise to fatal 
blunders, like those relating to the birth of Agathe and 
that of Max. It is not easy for the community of a 
country town to disentangle the truth from the mass of 
conjecture and contradictory reports to which a single 
fact gives rise. The provinces insist — as in former 
days the politicians of the little Provence at the Tuileries 
insisted — on full explanations, and they usually end by 
knowing everything. But each person clings to the 
version of the event which he, or she, likes best ; pro- 
claims it, argues it, and considers it the only true one. 
In spite of the strong light cast upon people’s lives by 
the constant spying of a little town, truth is thus often 
obscured ; and to be recognized, it needs the impar- 
tiality which historians or superior minds acquire by 
looking at the subject from a higher point of view. 

“ What do you suppose that old gorilla wants at his 
age with a little girl only fifteen years old?” society 
was still saying two years after the arrival of the 
^Rabouilleuse. 

“Ah! that’s true,” they answered, “his days of 
merr3"-making are long past.” 

‘ ‘ My dear fellow, the doctor is disgusted at the stu- 
pidity of his son, and he persists in hating his daughter 
Agathe ; it may be that he has been living a decent 
life for the last two years, intending to marr}^ little 
Flore ; suppose she were to give him a fine, active, 


172 


The Two Brothers. 


strapping boy, full of life like Max ? ” said one of the 
wise heads of the town. 

“Bah! don’t talk nonsense! After such a life as 
Rouget and Lousteau led from 1770 to 1787, is it likely 
that either of them would have children at sixty-five 
years of age? The old villain has read the Scriptures, 
if only as a doctor, and he is doing as David did in his 
old age ; that ’s all.” 

“ They say that Brazier, when he is drunk, boasts in 
Vatan that he cheated him,” cried one of those who 
always believed the worst of people. 

“Good heavens! neighbor; what won’t they say at 
Issoudun ? ” 

From 1800 to 1805, that is, for five 3 "ears, the doctor 
enjoyed all the pleasures of educating Flore without the 
anno\"ances which the ambitions and pretensions of 
Mademoiselle de Romans inflicted, it is said, on Louis 
le Bien-Aime. The little Rabouilleuse was so satisfied 
when she compared the life she led at the doctor’s with 
that she would have led at her uncle Brazier’s, that she 
yielded no doubt to the exactions of her master as if she 
had been an Eastern slave. With due deference to the 
makers of id 3 ds and to philanthropists, the inhabitants 
of the provinces have ver 3 " little idea of certain virtues ; 
and their scruples are of a kind that is roused by self- 
interest, and not by any sentiment of the right or the 
becoming. Raised from infancy with no prospect be- 
fore them but poverty and ceaseless labor, they are led to 
consider anything that saves them from the hell of hun- 
ger and eternal toil as permissible, particularly if it is 
not contrary to any law. Exceptions to this rule are 
rare. Virtue, socially speaking, is the companion of a 
comfortable life, and comes only with education. 


The Two Brothers. 


173 


Thus the Rabouilleuse was an object of envy to all 
the young peasant-girls within a circuit of ten miles, 
although her conduct, from a religious point of view, 
was supremely reprehensible. Flore, born in 1787, grew 
up in the midst of the saturnalias of 1793 and 1798, 
whose lurid gleams penetrated these country regions, 
then deprived of priests and faith and altars and relig- 
ious Ceremonies ; where marriage was nothing more than 
legal coupling, and revolutionary maxims left a deep 
impression. This wa^ markedly the case at Issoudun, 
a land where, as we have seen, revolt of all kinds is 
traditional. In 1802, Catholic worship was scarcely 
re-established. The Emperor found it a difficult mattci* 
to obtain priests. In 1806, many parishes all over 
France were still widowed ; so slowly were the clerg\’, 
decimated by the scaffold, gathered together again after 
their violent dispersion. 

In 1802, therefore, nothing was likely to reproach 
Flore Brazier, unless it might be her conscience ; and 
conscience was sure to be weaker than self-interest in 
the ward of Uncle Brazier. If, as everybody chose to 
suppose, the cynical doctor was compelled by his age 
to respect a child of fifteen, the Rabouilleuse was none 
the less considered very “ wide awake,” a term much 
used in that region. Still, some persons thought she 
could claim a certificate of innocence from the cessation 
of the doctor’s cares and attentions in the last two years 
of his life, during which time he showed her something 
more than coldness. 

Old Rouget had killed too many people not to know 
when his own end was nigh ; and his notary, finding 
him on his death-bed, draped as it were, in the mantle 
of encyclopaedic philosophy, pressed him to make a pro- 


174 


The Two Brothers. 


vision in favor of the young girl, then seventeen 3'ears 
old. 

“ So I do,” he said, cynically ; “ my death sets her 
at liberty.” 

This speech paints the nature of the old man. Cov- 
ering his evil doings with witty sayings, he obtained 
indulgence for them, in a land where wit is always 
applauded, — especially when addressed to obvious 
self-interest. In those words the notary read the con- 
centrated hatred of a man whose calculations had been 
balked by Nature herself, and who revenged himself 
upon the innocent object of an impotent love. This 
opinion was confirmed to some extent by the obstinate 
resolution of the doetor to leave nothing to the Rabouil- 
leuse, saying with a bitter smile, when the notary again 
urged the subject upon him, — 

“ Her beauty will make her rich enough ! ” 


The Two Brothers. 


175 


IX. 

Jean- Jacques Rouget did not mourn his father, 
though Flore Brazier did. The old doctor had made 
his son extremely unhappy, especially since he came of 
age, which happened in 1791 ; but he had given the 
little peasant-girl the material pleasures which are the 
ideal of happiness to country-folk. When Fanchette 
asked Flore, after the funeral, “Well, what is to be- 
come of you, now that monsieur is dead ? ” Jean- Jacques’s 
e 3 'es lighted up, and for the first time in his life his 
dull face grew animated, showed feeling, and seemed to 
brighten under the ra 3 's of a thought. 

“Leave the room,” he said to Fanchette, who was 
clearing the table. 

At seventeen, Flore retained that delicacy of feature 
and form, that distinction of beauty which attracted the 
doctor, and which women of the world know how to 
preserve, though it fades among the peasant-girls like 
the fiowers of the field. Nevertheless, the tendenc 3 ' to 
embonpoint, which handsome countrywomen develop 
when the 3 ^ no longer live a life of toil and hardship in 
the fields and in the sunshine, was already noticeable 
about her. Her bust had developed. The plump white 
shoulders were modelled on rich lines that harmoniousl 3 " 
blended with those of the throat, already showing a few 
folds of flesh. But the outline of the face was still 
faultless, and the chin delicate. 


176 


The Two Brothers, 


‘‘Flore,” said Jean- Jacques, in a trembling voice, 
“ you feel at borne in this bouse?” 

“Yes, Monsieur Jean.” 

As the heir was about to make bis declaration, he 
felt bis tongue stiffen at the recollection of the dead 
man, just put away in bis grave, and a doubt seized him 
as to what lengths his father’s benevolence might have 
gone. Flore, who was quite unable even to suspect his 
simplicity of mind, looked at her future master and 
waited for a time, expecting Jean- Jacques to go on with 
what he was sajung; but she finally left him without 
knowing what to think of such obstinate silence. What- 
ever teaching the Rabouilleuse may have received from 
the doctor, it was many a long day before she full}" 
understood the character of Jean- Jacques, whose history 
we now present in a few words. 

At the death of his father, Jacques, then thirtj^-seven, 
was as timid and submissive to paternal discipline as a 
child of twelve years old. That timidity ought to ex- 
plain his childhood, youth, and after-life to those who 
are reluctant to admit the existence of such characters, 
or such facts as this history relates, — though proofs of 
them are, alas, common everywhere, even among princes ; 
for Sophie Dawes was taken by the last of the Condes 
under worse circumstances than the Rabouilleuse. There 
are two species of timidity, — the timidity of the mind, 
and the timidity of the nerves ; a physical timidity, and 
a moral timidity. The one is independent of the other. 
The body may fear and tremble, while the mind is calm 
and courageous, or vice versa. This is the key to many 
moral eccentricities. When the two are united in one 
man, that man will be a cipher all his life ; such double- 
sided timidity makes him what we call “ an imbecile.” 


The Two Brothers. 


177 


Often fine suppressed qualities are hidden within that 
imbecile. To this double infirmity we may, perhaps, owe 
the lives of certain monks who lived in ecstasy ; for this 
unfortunate moral and physical disposition is produced 
quite as much by the perfection of the soul and of the 
organs, as by defects which are still unstudied. 

The timidity of Jean- Jacques came from a certain 
torpor of his faculties, which a great teacher or a great 
surgeon, like Despleins, would have roused. In him, 
as in the cretins, the sense of love had inherited a 
strength and vigor which were lacking to his mental 
qualities, though he had mind enough to guide him in 
ordinary affairs. The violence of passion, stripped of 
the ideal in which most young men expend it, only in- 
creased his timidity. He had never brought himself to 
court, as the saying is, any woman in Issoudun. Cer- 
tainly no young girl or matron would make advances 
to a young man of mean stature, awkward and shame- 
faced in attitude ; whose vulgar face, with its flattened 
features and pallid skin, making him look old before 
his time, was rendered still more hideous Iby a pair of 
large and prominent light-green eyes. The presence of 
a woman stultified the poor fellow, who was driven 
by passion on the one hand as violently as the lack of 
ideas, resulting from his education, held him back on 
the other. Paralyzed between these opposing forces, 
he had not a word to say, and feared to be spoken to, 
so much did he dread the obligation of replying. De- 
sire, which usually sets free the tongue, only petrified 
his powers of speech. Thus it happened that Jean- 
Jacques Rouget was solitary and sought solitude be- 
cause there alone he was at his ease. 

The doctor had seen, too late for remedy, the havoc 
12 


178 


The Two Brothers. 


wrought in his son’s life by a temperament and a char- 
acter of this kind. He would have been glad to get him 
married ; but to do that, he must deliver him over to an 
influence that was certain to become tyrannical, and the 
doctor hesitated. Was it not practically giving the 
whole management of the property into the hands of a 
stranger, some unknown girl? The doctor knew how 
difficult it was to gain true indications of the moral 
character of a woman from any study of a young girl. 
So, while he continued to search for a daughter-in-law 
whose sentiments and education offered some guar- 
antees for the future, he endeavored io push his son 
into the ways of avarice ; meaning to give the poor 
fool a sort of instinct that might eventually take the 
place of intelligence. 

He trained him, in the flrst place, to mechanical 
habits of life ; and instilled into him flxed ideas as 
to the investment of his revenues : and he spared 
him the chief difficulties of the management of a for- 
tune, by leaving his estates all in good order, and 
leased for long periods. Nevertheless, a fact which 
was destined to be of paramount importance in the life 
of the poor creature escaped the notice of the wily old 
doctor. Timidity is a good deal like dissimulation, and 
is equally secretive. Jean -Jacques was passionately in 
love with the Rabouilleuse. Nothing, of course, could 
be more natural. Flore was the only woman who lived 
in the bachelor’s presence, the only one he could see at 
his ease ; and at all hours he secretly contemplated her 
and watched her. To him, she was the light of his pa- 
ternal home ; she gave him, unknown to herself, the 
only pleasures that brightened his ^^outh. Fair from be- 
ing jealous of his father, he rejoiced in the education the 


The Two Brothers, 


179 


old man was giving to Flore : would it not make her all 
he wanted, a woman easy to win, and to whom, there- 
fore, he need pay no court? The passion, observe, 
which is able to reflect, gives even to ninnies, fools, and 
imbeciles a species of intelligence, especially in 3^outh. 
In the lowest human creature we And an animal instinct 
whose persistency resembles thought. 

The next day, Flore, who had been reflecting on her 
master’s silence, waited in expectation of some momen- 
tous communication ; but although he kept near her, 
and looked at her on the sly with passionate glances, 
Jean- Jacques still found nothing to say. At last, when 
the dessert was on the table, he recommenced the scene 
of the night before. 

“ You like your life here?” he said to Flore. 

“ Yes, Monsieur Jean.” 

“ Well, stay here then.” 

“ Thank you. Monsieur Jean.” 

This strange situation lasted three weeks. One night, 
when no sound broke the stillness of the house, Flore, 
who chanced to wake up, heard the regular breathing of 
human lungs outside her door, and was frightened to 
discover Jean-Jacques, crouched like a dog on the 
landing. 

“He loves me,” she thought; “but he will get the 
rheumatism if he keeps up that sort of thing.” 

The next day Flore looked at her master with a cer- 
tain expression. This mute almost instinctive love had 
touched her ; she no longer thought the poor ninny so 
ugly, though his forehead was crowned with pimples 
resembling ulcers, the signs of a vitiated blood. 

“ You don’t want to go back and live in the fields, do 
you? ” said Jean-Jacques when they were alone. 


180 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Why do you ask me that ? ” she said, looking at him. 
“ To know — ” replied Rouget, turning the color of a 
boiled lobster. 

“ Do you wish to send me back? ” she asked. 

“No, mademoiselle.” 

“Well, what is it you want to know? You have 
some reason — ** 

“ Yes, I want to know — ” 

“What?” said Flore. 

“You won’t tell me?” exclaimed Rouget. 

“ Yes I will, on my honor — ” 

^‘Ah! that’s it,” returned Rouget, with a frightened 
air. “ Are 3^ou an honest girl? ” 

“ I ’ll take my oath — ” 

“ Are you, truly?” 

“ Don’t 3"Ou hear me tell 3’ou so? ” 

“ Come; are 3^ou the same as you were when your 
uncle brought 3’ou here barefooted ? ” 

“ A fine question, faith ! ” cried Flore, blushing. 

The heir lowered his head and did not raise it again. 
Flore, amazed at such an encouraging sign from a man 
who had been overcome by a fear of that nature, left 
the room. 

Three days later, at the same hour (for both seemed 
to regard the dessert as a field of battle), Flore spoke 
first, and said to her master, — 

“ Have you anything against me? ” 

“No, mademoiselle,” he answered, “No — [a pause] 
On the contrar3\” 

“You seemed annoyed the other da3^ to hear I was 
an honest girl.” 

“No, I only wished to know — [a pause] But 3’ou 
would not teU me — ” 


The Two Brothers. 


181 


“ On my word ! ” she said, “I will tell you the whole 
truth.” 

“ The whole truth about — my father?” he asked in 
a strangled voice. 

“ Your father,” she said, looking full into her master’s 
eye, was a worthy man — he liked a joke — What 
of that? — there was nothing in it. But, poor dear man, 
it was n’t the will that was wanting. The truth is, he 
had some spite against 3^ou, I don’t know what, and he 
meant — oh ! he meant 3^ou harm. Sometimes he made 
me laugh ; but there ! what of that? ” 

“ Well, Flore,” said the heir, taking her hand, “ as 
m\" father was nothing to you — ” 

“ What did 3^011 suppose he was to me?” she cried, 
as if offended b3" some unworth3^ suspicion. 

“Well, but just listen — ” 

“He was my benefactor, that was all. Ah! he 
would have liked to make me his wife, but — ” 

“ But,” said Rouget, taking the hand which Flore had 
snatched away from him, “if he was nothing to 3"OU 
3’ou^can stay here with me, caii’t 3’’Ou? ” 

“ If you wish it,” she said, dropping her e3’es. 

“No, no! if 3^ou wish it, you!” exclaimed Rouget. ^ 
“ Yes, 3^ou shall be — mistress here. All that is here 
shall be 3"ours ; 3’ou shall take care of m3^ property, it 
is almost 3"ours now — for I love you ; I have always 
loved 3"ou since the day 3’ou came and stood there — 
there ! — with bare feet.” 

Flore made no answer. When the silence became 
embarrassing, Jean- Jacques had recourse to a terrible 
argument. 

“ Come,” he said, with visible warmth, “ wouldn’t it 
be better than returning to the fields? ” 


182 


The Two Brothers. 


“ As you will, Monsieur Jean,” she answered. 

Nevertheless, in spite of her “ as you will,” Jean- 
Jacques got no further. Men of his nature want cer- 
tainty. The effort that they make in avowing their 
love is so great, and costs them so much, that they feel 
unable to go on with it. This accounts for their attach- 
ment to the first woman who accepts them. We can 
only guess at circumstances by results. Ten months 
after the death of his father, Jean- Jacques changed 
completely ; his leaden face cleared, and his whole 
countenance breathed happiness. Flore exacted that 
he should take minute care of his person, and her own 
vanity was gratified in seeing him well-dressed ; she 
always stood on the sill of the door, and watched him 
starting for a walk, until she could see him no longer. 
The whole town noticed these changes, which had made 
a new man of the bachelor. 

“Have you heard the news?” people said to each 
other in Issoudun. 

“What is it?” 

“ Jean- Jacques inherits everj^thing from his father, 
even the Rabouilleuse.” 

“ Don’t you suppose the old doctor was wicked 
enough to provide a ruler for his son?” 

“ Rouget has got a treasure, that’s certain,” said 
everybody. 

“ She ’s a sly one ! She is very handsome, and she 
will make him marry her.” 

“ What luck that girl has had, to be sure ! ” 

“ The luck that only comes to prettj^ girls.” 

“Ah, bah! do 3’ou believe that? look at my uncle 
Borniche-Herau. You have heard of Mademoiselle 
Ganivet? she was as ugly as the seven capital sins, but 


The Two Brothers. 


183 


for all that, she got three thousand francs a year out of 
him.” 

“ Yes, but that was in 1778.” 

“ Still, Rouget is making a mistake. His father left 
him a good forty thousand francs* income, and he ought 
to marry Mademoiselle Herau.” 

“ The doctor tried to arrange it, but she would not 
consent ; Jean- Jacques is so stupid — *’ 

“ Stupid ! why women are very happy with that 
st^de of man.” 

“ Is your wife happy ? *’ 

Such was the sort of tattle that ran through Issou- 
dun. If people, following the use and wont of the 
provinces, began by laughing at this quasi-marriage, 
they ended by praising Flore for devoting herself to 
the poor fellow. We now see how it was that Flore 
Brazier obtained the management of the Rouget house- 
hold, — from father to son, as young Goddet had said. 
It is desirable to sketch the history of that management 
for the edification of old bachelors. 

Fanchette, the cook, was the only person in Issoudun 
who thought it wrong that Flore Brazier should be 
queen over Jean-Jacques Rouget and his home. She 
protested against the immorality of the connection, and 
took a tone of injured virtue ; the fact being that she 
was humiliated by having, at her age, a crab-girl for a 
mistress, — a child who had been brought barefoot into 
the house. Fanchette owned three hundred francs a 
3 ear in the Funds, for the doctor had made her invest 
her savings in that way, and he had left her as much 
more in an annuity ; she could therefore live at her 
ease without the necessity of working, and she quitted 
the house nine months after the funeral of her old 


184 


The Two Brothers, 


master, April 15, 1806. That date may indicate, to a 
perspicacous observer, the epoch at which Flore Brazier 
ceased to be an honest girl. 

The Rabouilleuse, clever enough to foresee Fan- 
chette’s probable defection, — there is nothing like the 
exercise of power for teaching policy, — was already 
resolved to do without a servant. For six months she 
had studied, without seeming to do so, the culinary op- 
erations that made Fanchette a cordon-bleu worthy of 
cooking for a doctor. In the matter of choice living, doc- 
tors are on a par with bishops. The doctor had brought 
Fanchette’s talents to perfection. In the provinces the 
lack of occupation and the monotony of existence turn 
all activity of mind towards the kitchen. People do not 
dine as luxuriousl}" in the country as thej^ do in Paris, 
but they dine better ; the dishes are meditated upon and 
studied. In rural regions we often find some Careme 
in petticoats, some unrecognized genius able to serve a 
simple dish of haricot-beans worthy of the nod with 
which Rossini welcomed a perfectly-rendered measure. 

When studying for his degree in Paris, the doctor 
had followed a course of chemistry under Rouelle, and 
had gathered some ideas which he afterwards put to 
use in the chemistry of cooking. His memory is famous 
in Issoudun for certain improvements little known out- 
side of Berr}^ It was he who discovered that an ome- 
let is far more delicate when the whites and the yolks 
are not beaten together with the violence which cooks 
usually put into the operation. He considered that the 
whites should be beaten to a froth and the yolks gently 
added by degrees ; moreover a frying-pan should never 
be used, but a ‘‘ cagnard’^ of porcelain or earthenware. 
The cagnard is a species of thick dish standing on four 


The Two Brothers, 


185 


feet, so that when it is placed on the stove the air cir- 
culates underneath and prevents the fire from cracking 
it. In Touraine the cagnard is called a cauquemarre. 
Rabelais, I think, speaks of a cauquemarre for cooking 
cockatrice eggs, thus proving the antiquity of the uten- 
sil. The doctor had also found a way to prevent the 
tartness of browned butter ; but this secret, which un- 
luckily he kept to his own kitchen, has been lost. 

Flore, a born fryer and roaster, two qualities that 
can never be acquired by observation nor yet by labor, 
soon surpassed Fanchette. In making herself a cordon- 
bleu she was thinking of Jean- Jacques’s comfort; 
though she was, it must be owned, tolerablj^ dainty. 
Incapable, like all persons without education, of doing 
anything with her brains, she spent her activity upon 
household matters. She rubbed up the furniture till 
it shone, and kept ever3"thing about the house in a 
state of cleanliness worth}" of Holland. She managed 
the avalanches of soiled linen and the floods of water 
that go by the name of “ the wash,” which was done, 
according to provincial usage, three times a year. She 
kept a housewifely eye to the linen, and mended it 
carefully. Then, desirous of learning little by little 
the secrets of the family property, she acquired the 
very limited business knowledge which Rouget pos- 
sessed, and increased it by conversations with the 
notary of the late doctor, Monsieur H^ron. Thus in- 
structed, she gave excellent advice to her little Jean- 
Jacques. Sure of being always mistress, she was as 
eager and solicitous about the old bachelor’s interests 
as if they had been her own. She was not obliged to 
guard against the exactions of her uncle, for two 
mouths before the doctor’s death Brazier died of a fall, 


186 


The Two Brothers, 


as he was leaving a wine-shop, where, since his rise in 
fortune, he spent most of his time. Flore had also lost 
her father: thus she served her master with all the 
affection which an orphan, thankful to make herself a 
home and a settlement in life, would naturally feel. 

This period of his life was paradise to poor Jean- 
Jacques, who now acquired the gentle habits of an 
animal, trained into a sort of monastic regularity. He 
slept late. Flore, who was up at daybreak attending 
to her housekeeping, woke him so that he should 
find his breakfast ready as soon as he had finished 
dressing. After breakfast, about eleven o’clock, Jean- 
Jacques went to walk ; talked with the people he met, 
and came home at three in the afternoon to read the 
papers, — those of the department, and a journal from 
Paris which he received three days after publication, 
well greased by the thirty hands through which it came, 
browned by the snuffy noses that had pored over it, 
and soiled by the various tables on which it had lain. 
The old bachelor thus got through the day until it was 
time for dinner ; over that meal he spent as much 
time as it was possible to give to it. Flore told him 
the news of the town, repeating the cackle that was 
current, which she had carefully picked up. Towards 
eight o’clock the lights were put out. Going to bed 
early is a saving of fire and candles very commonly 
practised in the provinces, which contributes no doubt 
to the empty-mindedness of the inhabitants. Too much 
'Sleep dulls and weakens the brain. 

Such was the life of these two persons during a 
period of nine years, the great events of which were 
a few journeys to Bourges, Vierzon, Chateauroux, or 
somewhat farther, if the notaiies of those towns and 


The Two Brothers, 


187 


Monsieur Heron had no investments ready for accept- 
ance. Rouget lent his money at five per cent on a first 
mortgage, with release of the wife’s rights in case 
the owner was married. He never lent more than a 
third of the value of the property, and required notes 
payable to his order for an additional interest of two 
and a half per cent spread over the whole duration of 
the loan. Such were the rules his father had told him 
to follow. Usury, that clog upon the ambition of the 
peasantry, is the destroyer of country regions. This 
lev}" of seven and a half per cent seemed, therefore, so 
reasonable to the borrowers that Jean- Jacques Rouget 
had his choice of investments ; and the notaries of the 
dilferent towns, who got a fine commission for them- 
selves from clients for whom they obtained money on 
such good terms, gave due notice to the old bachelor. 

During these nine years Flore obtained in the long 
run, insensibly and without aiming for it, an absolute 
control over her master. From the first, she treated 
him very familiarly ; then, without failing in proper 
respect, she so far surpassed him in superiority of mind 
and force of character that he became in fact the ser- 
vant of his servant. Elderly child that he was, he met 
this mastery half-way by letting Flore take such care of 
him that she treated him more as a mother would a son ; 
and he himself ended by clinging to her with the feel- 
ing of a child dependent on a mother’s protection. 
But there were other ties between them not less tightly 
knotted. In the first place, Flore kept the house and 
managed all its business. Jean- Jacques left everything 
to the crab-girl so completely that life without her would 
have seemed to him not only difficult, but impossible. 
In every way, this woman had become the one need of 


188 


The Two Brothers. 


his existence ; she indulged all his fancies, for she knew 
them well. He loved to see her bright face always 
smiling at him, — the only face that had ever smiled upon 
him, the only one to which he could look for a smile. 
This happiness, a purely material happiness, expressed 
in the homely words which come readiest to the tongue 
in a Berrichon household, and visible on the fine coun- 
tenance of the young woman, was like a refiection of his 
own inward content. The state into which Jean- Jacques 
was thrown when Flore’s brightness was clouded over 
by some passing annoyance revealed to the girl her 
power over him, and, to make sure of it, she sometimes 
liked to use it. Using such power means, with women 
of her class, abusing it. The Rabouilleuse, no doubt, 
made her master play some of those scenes buried in 
the mysteries of private life, of which Otwaj’ gives a 
specimen in the tragedy of “ Venice Preserved,” where 
the scene between the senator and Aquilina is the reali- 
zation of the magnificently horrible. Flore felt so se- 
cure of her power that, unfortunately for her, and for 
the bachelor himself, it did not occur to her to make 
him marry her. 

Towards the close of 1815, Flore, who was then 
twenty-seven, had reached the perfect development of 
her beauty. Plump and fresh, and white as a Norman 
countrywoman, she was the ideal of what our ancestors 
used to call “ a buxom housewife.” Her beauty, al- 
ways that of a handsome barmaid, though higher in t3q)e 
and better kept, gave her a likeness to Mademoiselle 
George in her palm}^ days, setting aside the latter’s im- 
perial dignity. Flore had the dazzling white round 
arms, the ample modelling, the sating" texture of the 
skin, the alluring though less rigidly correct outlines of 


The Two Brothers. 


189 


the great actress. Her expression was one of sweetness 
and tenderness ; but her glance commanded less respect 
than that of the noblest Agrippina that ever trod the 
French stage since the days of Kacine : on the contrary, 
it evoked a vulgar joy. In 1816 the Rabouilleuse saw 
Maxence Gilet, and fell in love with him at first sight. 
Her heart was cleft by the mythological arrow, — ad- 
mirable description of an effect of nature which the 
Greeks, unable to conceive the chivalric, ideal, and 
melancholy love begotten of Christianity, could repre- 
sent in no other way. Flore was too handsome to be 
disdained, and Max accepted his conquest. 

Thus, at twenty-eight years of age, the Rabouilleuse 
felt for the first time a true love, an idolatrous love, the 
love which includes all ways of loving, — that of Gul- 
nare and that of Medora. As soon as the penniless of- 
ficer found out the respective situations of Flore and 
Jean-Jacques Rouget, he saw something more desirable 
than an amourette in an intimacy with the Rabouilleuse. 
He asked nothing better for his future prosperity than 
to take up his abode at Rougetfs, recognizing perfectly 
the feeble nature of the old bachelor. Flore’s passion 
necessarily affected the life and household affairs of her 
master. For a month the old man, now grown ex- 
cessively timid, saw the laughing and kindly face of his 
mistress change to something terrible and gloomy and 
sullen. He was made to endure flashes of angry temper 
purposely displayed, precisely like a married man whose 
wife is meditating an infidelity. When, after some 
cruel rebuff, he nerved himself to ask Flore the reason 
of the change, her eyes were so full of hatred, and her 
voice so aggressive and contemptuous, that the poor 
creature quailed under them. 


190 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Good heavens ! ” she cried ; “ you have neither heart 
nor soul ! Here ’s sixteen years that I have spent my 
youth in this house, and I have only just found out that 
you have got a stone there (striking her breast). 
For two months you have seen before your ej^es that 
brave captain, a victim of the Bourbons, who was cut 
out for a general, and is down in the depths of poverty, 
hunted into a hole of a place where there ’s no way to 
make a penny of money ! He ’s forced to sit on a stool 
all day in the ma3^or’s office to earn — what ? Six hun- 
dred miserable francs, — a fine thing, indeed! And 
here are you, with six hundred and fifty-nine thousand 
well invested, and sixty thousand francs’ income, — 
thanks to me, who never spend more than thi-ee thou- 
sand a year, everything included, even my own clothes, 
yes, everything ! — and you never think of offering him 
a home here, though there ’s the second fioor empty ! 
You ’d rather the rats and mice ran riot in it than put 
a human being there, — and he a lad your father al- 
ways allowed to be his own son! Do you want to 
know what 3^ou are ? I ’ll tell you, — a fratricide ! And 
I know why, too. You see I take an interest in him, and 
that provokes you. Stupid as you seem, you have got 
more spite in you than the spitefullest of men. Well, 
yes ! I do take an interest in him, and a keen one — ” 

“But, Flore — ” 

“ ‘ Buty Florey indeed ! What ’s that got to do with 
it? You may go and find another Flore (if you can !), 
for I hope this glass of wine may poison me if I don’t 
get away from your dungeon of a house. I have n’t, 
God be thanked ! cost you one penny during the twelve 
years I ’ve been with you, and you have had the pleasure 
of my company into the bargain. I could have earned 


The Two Brothers. 


191 


my own living anywhere with the work that I Ve done 
here, — washing, ironing, looking after the linen, going 
to market, cooking, taking care of your interests before 
everything, slaving myself to death from morning till 
night, — and this is my reward ! ” 

“But, Flore — ” 

“ Oh, yes, ‘ Flore" ! find another Flore, if you can, at 
your time of life, fifty-one years old, and getting feeble, 

— for the way your health is failing is frightful, I know 
that ! and besides, you are none too amusing — ” 

“ But, Flore—” 

“ Let me alone ! ” 

She went out, slamming the door with a violence that 
echoed through the house, and seemed to shake it to 
its foundations. Jean-Jacques softly opened the door 
and went, still more softly, into the kitchen where she 
was muttering to herself. 

“ But, Flore,” said the poor sheep, “ this is the first 
time I have heard of this wish of yours ; how do you 
know whether I will agree to it or not?” 

“ In the first place,” she said, “ there ought to be a 
man in the house. Everybody knows you have ten, 
fifteen, twenty thousand francs here ; if they came to 
rob you we should both be murdered. For my part, I 
don’t care to wake up some fine morning chopped in 
quarters, as happened to that poor servant-girl who was 
silly enough to defend her master. Well ! if the robbers 
knew there was a man in the house as brave as Caesar 
and who was n’t born yesterday, — for Max could swal- 
low three burglars as quick as a fiash, — well, then I 
should sleep easy. People may tell you a lot of stuff, 

— that I love him, that I adore him, — and some say 
this and some say that ! Do you know what you ought 


192 


The Two Brothers, 


to say ? You ought to answer that j^ou know it ; that 
your father told you on his deathbed to take care of 
his poor Max. That will stop people’s tongues ; for 
every stone in Issoudun can tell you he paid Max’s 
schooling — and so ! Here ’s nine j^'ears that I have 
eaten your bread — ” 

“ Flore, — Flore ! ” 

“ — and many a one in this town has paid court to 
me, I can tell you ! Gold chains here, and watches 
there, — what don’t they offer me? ‘ My little Flore,’ 
they say, ‘ why won’t you leave that old fool of a 
Rouget’ — for that’s what they call you. ‘I leave 
him ! ’ I always answer, ^ a poor innocent like that ? I 
think I see myself! what would become of him? No, 
no, where the kid is tethered, let her browse — ’ ” 
“Yes, Flore; I’ve none but j^ou in this world, and 
you make me happy. If it will give you pleasure, 
my dear, well, we will have Maxence Gilet here ; he 
can eat with us — ” 

“ Heavens ! I should hope so ! ” 

“ There, there I don’t get angry — ” 

“ Enough for one is enough for two,” she answered 
laughing. “ I ’ll tell you what you can do, my lamb, 
if you really mean to be kind ; you must go and 
walk up and down near the Mayor’s office at four 
o’clock, and manage to meet Monsieur Gilet and invite 
him to dinner. If he makes excuses, tell him it will 
give me pleasure ; he is too polite to refuse. And after 
dinner, at dessert, if he tells you about his misfortunes, 
and the hulks and so forth — for you can easily get him 
to talk about all that — then you can make him the offer 
to come and live here. If he makes^any objection, 
never mind, I shall know how to settle it.” 


The Two Brothers, 


193 


Walking slowly along the boulevard Baron, the old 
celibate reflected, as much as he had the mind to reflect, 
over this incident. If he were to part from Flore (the 
mere thought confused him) where could he find an- 
other woman ? Should he marry ? At his age he should 
be married for his money, and a legitimate wife would 
use him far more cruelly than Flore. Besides, the 
thought of being deprived of her tenderness, even if it 
were a mere pretence, caused him horrible anguish. He 
was therefore as polite to Captain Gilet as he knew how 
to be. The invitation was given, as Flore had re- 
quested, before witnesses, to guard the hero’s honor 
from all suspicion. 

A reconciliation took place between Flore and her 
master ; but from that day forth Jean-Jacques noticed 
many a trifle that betokened a total change in his mis- 
tress’s affections. For two or three weeks Flore Brazier 
complained to the tradespeople in the markets, and to 
the women with whom she gossiped, about Monsieur 
Rouget’s tyranny, — how he had taken it into his head 
to invite his self-styled natural brother to live with him. 
No one, however, was taken in by this comedy; and 
Flore was looked upon as a wonderfully clever and 
artful creature. Old Rouget really found himself very 
comfortable after Max became the master of his house ; 
for he thus gained a companion who paid him many at- 
tentions, without, however, showing any servility. Gilet 
talked, discussed politics, and sometimes went to walk 
with Rouget. After Max was fairly installed, Flore did 
not choose to do the cooking ; she said it spoiled her 
hands. At the request of the grand master of the Order 
of the Knights of Idleness, Mere Cognette produced one 
of her relatives, an old maid whose master, a curate, had 
13 


194 


The Two Brothers. 


lately died without leaving her anything, — an excellent 
cook, withal, — who declared she would devote herself 
for life or death to Max and Flore. In the name of 
the two powers. Mere Cognette promised her an annuity 
of three hundred francs a year at the end of ten years, 
if she served them loj’ally, honestly, and discreetly. 
The V4die, as she was called, was noticeable for a face 
deeply pitted by the small-pox, and correspondingly 

ugly- 

After the new cook had entered upon her duties, the 
Rabouilleuse took the title of Madame Brazier. She 
wore corsets ; she had silk, or handsome woollen and 
cotton dresses, according to the season, expensive neck- 
erchiefs, embroidered caps and collars, lace ruffles at her 
throat, boots instead of shoes, and, altogether, adopted 
a richness and elegance of apparel which renewed the 
youthfulness of her appearance. She was like a rough 
diamond, that needed cutting and mounting by a jew- 
eller to bring out its full value. Her desire was to do 
honor to Max. At the end of the first year, in 1817, 
she brought a horse, styled English, from Bourges, for 
the poor cavalry captain^ who was weary of going 
afoot. Max had picked up in the purlieus of Issou- 
dun an old lancer of the Imperial Guard, a Pole named 
Kouski, now very poor, who asked nothing better than 
to quarter himself in Monsieur Rouget’s house as the 
captain’s servant. Max was Kouski’s idol, especially 
after the duel with the three royalists. So, from 1817, 
the household of the old bachelor was made up of five 
persons, three of whom were masters, and the expenses 
advanced to about eight thousand francs a year. 


The Two Brothers, 


195 


X. 

At the time when Madame Bridau returned to Issou- 
dim to save — as Maitre Desroches expressed it — 
an inheritance that was seriously threatened, Jean- 
Jacques Rouget had reached by degrees a condition 
that was semi- vegetative. In the first place, after 
Max’s instalment, Flore put the table on an episcopal 
footing. Rouget, thrown in the way of good living, 
ate more and still more, enticed by the Vedie’s excel- 
lent dishes. He grew no fatter, however, in spite of 
this abundant and luxurious nourishment. From day 
to day he weakened like a worn-out man, — fatigued, 
perhaps, with the effort of digestion, — and his eyes 
had dark circles around them. Still, when his friends 
and neighbors met him in his walks and questioned 
him about his health, he always answered that he was 
never better in his life. As he had always been 
thought extremely deficient in mind, people did not 
notice the constant lowering of his faculties. His love 
for Flore was the one thing that kept him alive ; in 
fact, he existed only for her, and his weakness in her 
presence was unbounded; he obeyed the creature’s 
mere look, and watched her movements as a dog 
watches every gesture of his master. In short, as 
Madame Hochon remarked, at fifty-seven years of 
age he seemed older than Monsieur Hochon, an 
octogenarian. 


196 


The Two Brothers, 


Every one will suppose, and with reason, that Max’s 
appartement was worthy of so charming a fellow. In 
fact, in the course of six years our captain had by 
degrees perfected the comfort of his abode and adorned 
every detail of it, as much for his own pleasure as for 
Flore’s. But it was, after aU, only the comfort and 
luxury of Issoudun, — colored tiles, rather elegant wall- 
papers, mahogany furniture, mirrors in gilt frames, 
muslin curtains with red borders, a bed with a canopy, 
and draperies arranged as the provincial upholsterers 
arrange them for a rich bride; which in the e3^es of 
Issoudun seemed the height of luxury", but are so com- 
mon in vulgar fashion-plates that even the pett^^ shop- 
keepers in Paris have discarded them at their weddings. 
One very unusual thing appeared, which caused much 
talk in Issoudun, namely, a rush-matting on the stairs, no 
doubt to muffle the sound of feet. In fact, though Max 
was in the habit of coming in at daybreak, he never 
woke any one, and Pouget was far from suspecting 
that his guest was an accomplice in the nocturnal per- 
formances of the Knights of Idleness. 

About eight o’clock the next morning, Flore, wear- 
ing a dressing-gown of some pretty cotton stuff with 
narrow pink stripes, a lace cap on her head, and her 
feet in furred slippers, softly opened the door of Max’s 
chamber ; seeing that he slept, she remained standing 
beside the bed. 

“He came in so late!” she said to herself. “It 
was half-past three. He must have a good constitution 
to stand such amusements. Is n’t he strong, the dear 
love! I wonder what they did last night.” 

“Oh, there yon are, my little Flore!” said Max, 
waking like a soldier trained by the necessities of war 


The Two Brothers. 


197 


to have his wits and his self-possession about him the in- 
stant that he waked, however suddenly it might happen. 

“ You are sleepy ; I ’ll go away.” 

“ No, stay ; there ’s something serious going on.” 

“Were you up to some mischief last night?” 

“Ah, bah! It concerns you and me and that old 
fool. You never told me he had a family ! Well, his 
family are coming, — coming here, — no doubt to turn 
us out, neck and crop.” 

“ Ah I I ’ll shake him well,” said Flore. 

“ Mademoiselle Brazier,” said Max gravely, “ things 
are too serious for giddiness. Send me my coffee ; 
I ’ll take it in bed, where I ’ll think over what we had 
better do. Come back at nine o’clock, and we ’ll talk 
about it. Meantime, behave as if you had heard 
nothing.” 

Frightened at the news, Flore left Max and went to 
make his coffee ; but a quarter of an hour later, Baruch 
burst into Max’s bedroom, crying out to the grand 
master, — 

“ Fario is hunting for his barrow I ” 

In five minutes Max was dressed and in the street ; 
and though he sauntered along with apparent indiffer- 
ence, he soon reached the foot of the tower embank- 
ment, where he found quite a collection of people. 

“ What is it?” asked Max, making his way through 
the crowd and reaching the Spaniard. 

Fario was a withered little man, as ugly as though 
he were a blue-blooded grandee. His fiery eyes, placed 
very close to his nose and piercing as a gimlet, would 
have won him the name of a sorcerer in Naples. He 
seemed gentle because he was calm, quiet, and slow in 
his movements ; and for this reason people commonly 


198 


The Two Brothers, 


called him “ goodman Fario.” But his skin — the 
color of gingerbread — and his softness of manner only 
hid from stupid eyes, and disclosed to observing ones, 
the half-Moorish nature of a peasant of Granada, 
which nothing had as yet roused from its phlegmatic 
indolence. 

“ Are you sure,” Max said to him, after listening to his 
grievance, “ that you brought your cart to this place? 
for, thank God, there are no thieves in Issoudun.” 

“ I left it just there — ” 

“ If the horse was harnessed to it, has n't he drawn 
it somewhere ? ” 

“ Here 's the horse,” said Fario, pointing to the ani- 
mal, which stood harnessed thirty feet away. 

Max went gravely up to the place where the horse 
stood, because from there the bottom of the tower at 
the top of the embankment could be seen, — the crowd 
being at the foot of the mound. Everybody followed 
Max, and that was what the rascal wanted. 

“ Has anybody thoughtlessly put a cart in his 
pocket?” cried Fran9ois. 

“ Turn out your pockets, all of 3^ou ! ” said Baruch. 

Shouts of laughter resounded on all sides. Fario 
swore. Oaths, with a Spaniard, denote the highest 
pitch of anger. 

“Was your cart light? ” asked Max. 

“ Light ! ” cried Fario. “ If those who laugh at me 
had it on their feet, their corns would never hurt them 
again.” 

“ Well, it must be devilishly light,” answered Max, 
“ for look there! ” pointing to the foot of the tower; 
“it has flown up the embankment.” 

At these words all eyes were lifted to the spot, and 


The Two Brothers. 


199 


for a moment there was a perfect uproar in the market- 
place. Each man pointed at the barrow bewitched, 
and all their tongues wagged. 

“ The devil makes common cause with the inn- 
keepers,” said Goddet to the astonished Spaniard. 
“ He means to teach you not to leave your cart about 
in the streets, but to put it in the tavern stables.” 

At this speech the crowd hooted, for Fario was 
thought to be a miser. 

“ Come, my good fellow,” said Max, “ don’t lose 
heart. We ’ll go up to the tower and see how your 
barrow got there. Thunder and cannon ! we ’ll lend 
you a hand ! Come along, Baruch. 

“As for you,” he whispered to Fran9ois, “get the 
people to stand back, and make sure there is nobody at 
the foot of the embankment when you see us at the 
top.” 

Fario, Max, Baruch, and three other knights climbed 
to the foot of the tower. During the rather perilous 
ascent Max and , Fario noticed that no damage to the 
embankment, nor even trace of the passage of the 
barrow, could be seen. Fario began to imagine witch- 
craft, and lost his head. When they reached the top 
and examined into the matter, it really seemed a thing 
impossible that the cart had got there. 

“ How shall I ever get it down?” said the Spaniard, 
whose little eyes began for the first time to show fear ; 
while his swarthy yellow face, which seemed as if it 
could never change color, whitened. 

“ How? ” said Max. “ Why, that ’s not difficult.” 

And taking advantage of the Spaniard’s stupefac- 
tion, he raised the barrow b}^ the shafts with his robust 
arms and prepared to fling it down, calling in thunder- 


200 


The Two Brothers. 


ing tones as it left his grasp, “ Look out there, 
below ! ” 

No accident happened, for the crowd, persuaded by 
Fran 9 ois and eaten up with curiosity, had retired to a 
distance from which they could see more clearly what 
went on at the top of the embankment. The cart was 
dashed to an infinite number of pieces in a very pic- 
turesque manner. 

“ There ! you have got it down,” said Baruch. 

“ Ah, brigands ! ah, scoundrels ! ” cried Fario ; “ per- 
haps it was you who brought it up here ! ” 

Max, Baruch, and their three comrades began to 
laugh at the Spaniard’s rage. 

“ I wanted to do you a service,” said Max cooU}^, 
“ and in handling the damned thing I came very near 
fiinging myself after it ; and this is how you thank me, 
is it ? What country do you come from ? ” 

“ I come from a country where they never forgive,” 
replied Fario, trembling with rage. “ My cart will be 
the cab in which you shall drive to the devil ! — unless,” 
he said, suddenly becoming as meek as a lamb, “ you 
will give me a new one.” 

“We will talk about that,” said Max, beginning to 
descend. 

When they reached the bottom and met the first 
hilarious group. Max took Fario by a button of his 
jacket and said to him, — 

“Yes, my good Fario, 1 ’ll give j’ou a magnificent 
cart, if you will give me two hundred and fifty francs ; 
but I won’t warrant it to go, like this one, up a tower.” 

At this last jest Fario became as cool as though 
he were making a bargain. 

“ Damn it ! ” he said, “ give me the wherewithal to 


The Two Brothers. 


201 


replace my barrow, and it will be the best use you ever 
made of old Rouget’s money.” 

Max turned livid ; he raised his formidable fist to 
strike Fario; but Baruch, who knew that the blow 
would descend on others besides the Spaniard, plucked 
the latter away like a feather and whispered to Max, — 

“ Don’t commit such a folly ! ” 

The grand master, thus called to order, began to 
laugh and said to Fario, — 

“If I, by accident, broke your barrow, and you in 
return try to slander me, we are quits.” 

“Not 3^et,” muttered Fario. “But I am glad to 
know what m\" barrow was worth.” 

“Ah, Max, you’ve found j^our match!” said a 
spectator of the scene, who did not belong to the Order 
of Idleness. 

“Adieu, Monsieur Gilet. I haven’t thanked 3'ou 
3'et for lending me a hand,” cried the Spaniard, as he 
kicked the sides of his horse and disappeared amid 
loud hurrahs. 

“We will keep the tires of the wheels for you,” 
shouted a wheelwright, who had come to inspect the 
damage done to the cart. 

One of the shafts was sticking upright in the ground, 
as straight as a tree. Max stood by, pale and thought- 
ful, and deeply annoyed by Fario’s speech. For five 
days after this, nothing was talked of in Issoudun but 
the tale of the Spaniard’s barrow; it was even fated 
to travel abroad, as Goddet remarked, — for it went 
the round of Berry, where the speeches of Fario and 
Max were repeated, and at the end of a week the affair, 
greatly to the Spaniard’s satisfaction, was still the talk 
of the three departments and the subject of endless 


202 


The Two Brothers. 


gossip. In consequence of the vindictive Spaniard’s 
terrible speech, Max and the Rabouilleuse became the 
object of certain comments which were merely whis- 
pered in Issoudun, though the}" were spoken aloud in 
Bourges, Vatan, Vierzon, and Chateauroux. Maxence 
Gilet knew enough of that region of country to guess 
how envenomed such comments would become. 

“ We can’t stop their tongues,” he said at last. 
“Ah! I did a foolish thing! ” 

“ Max ! ” said Fran9ois, taking his arm. “ They are 
coming to-night.” 

“They! Who!” 

“ The Bridaus. My grandmother has just had a 
letter from her goddaughter.” 

“ Listen, m3" boy,” said Max in a low voice. “ I 
have been thinking deeply of this matter. Neither 
Flore nor I ought to seem opposed to the Bridaus. If 
these heirs are to be got rid of, it is for 3"ou Hochons to 
drive them out of Issoudun. Find out what sort of 
people they are. To-morrow at Mere Cognette’s, after 
I ’ve taken their measure, we can decide what is to be 
done, and how we can set 3"Our grandfather against 
them.” 

“ The Spaniard found the flaw in Max’s armor,” 
said Baruch to his cousin Fran9ois, as they turned 
into Monsieur Hochon’s house and watched their com- 
rade entering his own door. 

While Max was thus employed, Flore, in spite of 
her friend’s advice, was unable to restrain her wrath ; 
and without knowing whether she would help or hinder 
Max’s plans, she burst forth upon the poor bachelor. 
When Jean-Jacques incurred the anger of his mistress, 
the little attentions and vulgar fondlings which were all 


The Two Brothers. 


203 


his joy were suddenlj^ suppressed. Flore sent her 
master, as the children say, into disgrace. No more 
tender glances, no more of the caressing little words in 
various tones with which she decked her conversation, 
— “ my kitten,’’ “ my old darling,” “ my bibi,” “ my 
rat,” etc. A “you,” cold and sharp and ironically re- 
spectful, cut like the blade of a knife through the heart 
of tfie miserable old bachelor. The “ you” was a dec- 
laration of war. Instead of helping the poor man with 
his toilet, handing him what he wanted, forestalling his 
wishes, looking at him with the sort of admiration which 
all women know how to express, and which, in some 
cases, the coarser it is the better it pleases, — saying, 
for instance, “ You look as fresh as a rose ! ” or, “What 
health you have!” “How handsome you are, my old 
Jean ! ” — in short, instead of entertaining him with 
the lively chatter and broad jokes in which he de- 
lighted, Flore left him to dress alone. If he called her, 
she answered from the foot of the staircase, “I can’t 
do everything at once ; how can I look after your 
breakfast and wait upon you up there ? Are not you 
big enough to dress your own self?” 

“Oh, dear! what have I done to displease her?” 
the old man asked himself that morning, as he got one 
of these rebuffs after calling for his shaving-water. 

“ Vedie, take up the hot water,” cried Flore. 

“Vedie!” exclaimed the poor man, stupefied with 
fear of the anger that was crushing him. “Vedie, 
what is the matter with Madame this morning?” 

Flore Brazier required her master and Vedie and 
Kouski and Max to call her Madame. 

“ She seems to have heard something about you 
which is n’t to your credit,” answered Vedie, assuming 


204 


The Two Brothers. 


an air of deep concern. “ You are doing wrong, mon- 
sieur. I ’m only a poor servant- worn an, and you may 
say I have no right to poke m3" nose into your affairs ; 
hut I do say 3"ou ma}" search through all the women in 
the world, like that king in holy Scripture, and 3"OU 
won’t find the equal of Madame. You ought to kiss 
the ground she steps on. Goodness ! if 3"ou make her 
uiihapp3", 3"ou’ll only spoil 3"our own life. There she 
is, poor thing, with her e3"es full of tears.” 

Vedie left the poor man utterl3" cast down ; he 
dropped into an armchair and gazed into vacancy like 
the melanchol}' imbecile that he was, and forgot to shave. 
These alternations of tenderness and severitj" worked 
upon this feeble creature whose only life was through 
his amorous fibre, the same morbid effect which great 
changes from tropical heat to arctic cold produce upon 
the human body. It was a moral pleuris3", which wore 
him out like a ph3"sical disease. Flore alone could 
thus affect him ; for to her, and to her alone, he was as 
good as he was foolish. 

“ Well, have n’t you shaved yet? ” she said, appear- 
ing at his door. 

Her sudden presence made the old man start vio- 
lentl}" ; and from being pale and cast down he grew red 
for an instant, without, however, daring to complain of 
her treatment. 

“ Your breakfast is waiting,” she added. “ You can 
come down as 3"ou are, in dressing-gown and slippers ; 
for you ’ll breakfast alone, I can teU you/* 

Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared. 
To make him breakfast alone was the punishment he 
dreaded most; he loved to talk to her as he ate his 
meals. When he got to the foot of the staircase he 


The Two Brothers. 


205 


was taken with a fit of coughing ; for emotion excited 
his catarrh. 

“ Cough away! ” said Flore in the kitchen, without 
caring whether he heard her or not. “ Confound the 
old wretch! he is able enough to get over it without 
bothering others. If he coughs up his soul, it will 
only be after — ” 

Such were the amenities the Rabouilleuse addressed 
to Rouget when she was angry. The poor man sat 
down in deep distress at a corner of the table in the 
middle of the room, and looked at his old furniture and 
the old pictures with a disconsolate air. 

“ You might at least have put on a cravat,” said 
Flore. “ Do you think it is pleasant for people to see 
such a neck as yours, which is redder and more 
wrinkled than a turkey’s ? ” 

“But what have I done?” he asked, lifting his big 
light-green eyes, full of tears, to his tormentor, and 
trying to face her hard countenance. 

“What have you done?” she exclaimed. “As if 
you did n’t know? Oh, what a hypocrite ! Your sister 
Agathe — who is as much your sister as I am sister of 
the tower of Issoudun, if one ’s to believe your father, 
and who has no claim at all upon you — is coming here 
from Paris with her son, a miserable two-penny painter, 
to see you.” 

“ My sister and my nephews coming to Issoudun ! ” 
he said, bewildered. 

“ Oh, yes ! play the surprised, do ; try to make me 
believe you did n’t send for them ! sewing your lies 
with white thread, indeed! Don’t fash yourself; we 
won’t trouble your Parisians — before they set their feet 
in this house, we shall have shaken the dust of it off 


206 


The Two Brothers. 


ours. Max and I will be gone, never to return. As 
for your will, I ’ll tear it in quarters under your nose, 
and to your very beard — do you hear ? Leave 5’our 
property to your family, if you don’t think we are your 
family : and then see if you ’ll be loved for yourself by 
a lot of people who have not seen you for thirty 3’ears, 
— who in fact have never seen you ! Is it that sort of 
sister who can take my place? A pinchbeck saint ! ” 

“ If that’s all, my little Flore,” said the old man, “ I 
won’t receive my sister, or my nephews. I swear to 
you this is the first word I have heard of their coming. 
It is all got up by that Madame Hochon — a sancti- 
monious old — ” 

Max, who overheard old Rouget’s words, entered 
suddenly, and said in a masterful tone, — 

“What’s all this?” 

“ My good Max,” said the old man, glad to get the 
protection of the soldier who, by agreement with Flore, 
always took his side in a dispute, “ I swear b^^ all that 
is most sacred, that I now hear this news for the first 
time. I have never written to my sister ; my father made 
me promise not to leave her any of my property ; to 
leave it to the Church sooner than to her. Well, I 
won’t receive my sister Agathe in this house, or her 
sons — ” 

“ Your father was wrong, my dear Jean-Jacques, and 
Madame Brazier is still more wrong,” answered Max. 
“ Your father no doubt had his reasons, but he is dead, 
and his hatred should die with him. Your sister is 
3’Our sister, and your nephews are your nephews. You 
owe it to yourself to welcome them, and you owe it to 
us as well. What would people say in Issoudun? 
Thunder! I’ve got enough upon my shoulders as it 


The Two Brothers. 


207 


is, without hearing people say that we shut you up and 
don’t allow you a will of your own, or that we influence 
3"OU against your relations and are trying to get hold 
of your property. The devil take me if I don’t pull 
up stakes and be off, if that sort of calumny is to be 
flung at me ! the other is bad enough ! Let ’s eat our 
breakfast.” 

Flore, who was now as mild as a weasel, helped 
Vedie to set the table. Old Rouget, full of admiration 
for Max, took him by both hands and led him into 
the recess of a window, saying in a low voice : — 

“ Ah ! Max, if I had a son, I couldn’t love him better 
than I love you. Flore is right : you two are my real 
family. You are a man of honor, Max, and what you 
have just said is true.” 

“ You ought to receive and entertain 3*our sister and 
her son, but not change the arrangements 3’ou have 
made about your property,” said Max. “ In that way 
3"Ou will do what is right in the eyes of the world, and 
yet keep j'our promise to your father.” 

“Well! my dear loves!” cried Flore, gadfly, “the 
salmi is getting cold. Come, my old rat, here ’s a wing 
for you,” she said, smiling on Jean- Jacques. 

At the words, the long-drawn face of the poor crea- 
ture lost its cadaverous tints, the smile of a Theriaki 
flickered on his pendent lips ; but he was seized with 
another fit of coughing ; for the joy of being taken back 
to favor excited as violent an emotion as the punish- 
ment itself. Flore rose, pulled a little cashmere shawl 
from her own shoulders and tied it round the old man’s 
throat, exclaiming : “ How silly to put yourself in such 
a way about nothing. There, 3’ou old goose, that will 
do you good ; it has been next my heart — ” 


208 


The Two Brothers, 


“What a good creature!” said Rouget to Max, 
while Flore went to fetch a black velvet cap to cover 
the nearly bald head of the old bachelor. 

“ As good as she is beautiful ; ” answered Max, “ but 
she is quick-tempered, like all people who carry their 
hearts in their hands.” 

The baldness of this sketch may displease some, who 
will think the flashes of Flore’s character belong to the 
sort of realism which a painter ought to leave in shadow. 
Well ! this scene, played again and again with shocking 
variations, is, in its coarse way and its horrible veracity’, 
the type of such scenes played by women on whatever 
rung of the social ladder they are perched, when an}' 
interest, no matter what, draws them from their own 
line of obedience and induces them to grasp at power. 
In their eyes, as in those of politicians, all means to 
an end are justifiable. Between Flore Brazier and a 
duchess, between a duchess and the richest bourgeoise, 
between a bourgeoise and the most luxuriously kept 
mistress, there are no differences except those of the 
education they have received, and the surroundings in 
which they live. The pouting of a fine lady is the same 
thing as the violence of a Rabouilleuse. At all levels, 
bitter sayings, ironical jests, cold contempt, hypocritical 
complaints, false quarrels, win as much success as the 
low outbursts of this Madame ^Iverard of Issoudun. 

Max began to relate, with much humor, the tale of 
Fario and his barrow, which made the old man laugh. 
Vedie and Kouski, who came to listen, exploded in the 
kitchen, and as to Flore, she laughed convulsively. Af- 
ter breakfast, while Jean- Jacques read the newspapers 
(for they subscribed to the “ Constitutionel ” and the 
“ Pandore ”), Max carried Flore to his own quarters. 


The Two Brothers. 


209 


“ Are you quite sure he has not made any other will 
since the one in which he left the propert}’ to you ? ” 

“ He hasn’t anything to write with,” she answered. 

“ He might have dictated it to some notary,” said 
Max ; “we must look out for that. Therefore it is well 
to be cordial to the Bridaus, and at the same time en- 
deavor to turn those mortgages into money. The nota- 
ries will be only too glad to make the transfers ; it is 
grist to their mill. The Funds are going up ; we shall 
conquer Spain, and deliver Ferdinand VH. and the Cor- 
tez, and then they will be above par. You and I could 
make a good thing of it by putting the old fellow’s 
seven hundred and fifty thousand francs into the Funds 
at eighty-nine. Only you must try to get it done in 
your name ; it will be so much secured anyhow.” 

“ A capital idea ! ” said Flore. 

“And as there will be an income of fifty thousand 
francs from eight hundred and ninety thousand, we must 
make him borrow one hundred and forty thousand francs 
for two years, to be paid back in two instalments. In two 
years, we shall get one hundred thousand francs in Paris, 
and ninety thousand here, and risk nothing.” 

“If it were not for you, my handsome Max, what 
would become of me now?” she said. 

“Oh! to-morrow night at Mere Cognette’s, after I 
have seen the Parisians, I shall find a way to make 
the Hochons themselves get rid of them.” 

“Ah I what a head you Ve got, my angel ! You are 
a love of a man.” 

The place Saint- Jean is at the centre of a long street 
called at the upper end the rue Grande Narette, and at 
the lower the rue Petite Narette. The word “ Narette ” 
is used in Berry to express the same lay of the land as 
14 


210 


The Two Brothers. 


the Genoese word salita indicates, — that is to say, a 
steep street. The Grande Narette rises rapidly from 
the place Saint-Jean to the porte Vilatte. The house of 
old Monsieur Hochon is exactly opposite that of Jean- 
Jacques Rouget. From the windows of the room where 
Madame Hochon usually sat, it was easy to see what 
went on at the Rouget household, and vice versa., when 
the curtains were drawn back or the doors were left open. 
The Hochon house was like the Rouget house, and the 
two were doubtless built by the same architect. Mon- 
sieur Hochon, formerly tax-collector at Selles in Berrj^ 
born, however, at Issoudun, had returned to his native 
place and married the sister of the sub-delegate, the gay 
Lousteau, exchanging his office at Selles for another of 
the same kind at Issoudun. Having retired before 1787, 
he escaped the dangers of the Revolution, to whose prin- 
ciples, however, he firmly adhered, like all other “ honest 
men” who howl with the winners. Monsieur Hochon 
came honestly by the reputation of miser. But it would 
be mere repetition to sketch him here. A single speci- 
men of the avarice which made him famous will suffice 
to make you see Monsieur Hochon as he was. 

At the wedding of his daughter, now dead, who mar- 
ried a Borniche, it was necessary to give a dinner to the 
Borniche famil3\ The bridegroom, who was heir to a 
large fortune, had suffered great mortification from hav- 
ing mismanaged his property, and still more because 
his father and mother refused to help him out. The old 
people, who were living at the time of the marriage, were 
delighted to see Monsieur Hochon step in as guardian, 
— for the purpose, of course, of making his daughter’s 
dowry secure. On the day of the dinner, which was 
given to celebrate the signing of the marriage contract. 


The Two Brothers. 


211 


the chief relations of the two families were assembled 
in the salon, the Hochons on one side, the Borniches on 
the other, — all in their best clothes. While the con- 
tract was being solemnly read aloud by young Heron, 
the notary, the cook came into the room and asked 
Monsieur Hochon for some twine to truss up the turkey, 
— an essential feature of the repast. The old man dove 
into the pocket of his surtout and pulled forth a bit of 
string, which had evidently already served to tie up a 
parcel, and gave it to her ; but before she could leave 
the room he called out, “ Gritte, mind you give it back 
to me ! ” (Gritte is the abbreviation used in Berry for 
Marguerite.) 

From year to year old Hochon grew more petty in his 
meanness, and more penurious ; and at this time he was 
eighty-five years old. He belonged to the class of men 
who stop short in the street, in the middle of a lively 
dialogue, and stoop to pick up a pin, remarking, as they 
stick it in the sleeve of their coat, “ There ’s the wife’s 
stipend.” He complained bitterly of the poor quality 
of the cloth manufactured now-a-days, and called atten- 
tion to the fact that his coat had lasted only ten years. 
Tall, gaunt, thin, and sallow ; saying little, reading 
little, and doing nothing to fatigue himself ; as observ- 
ant of forms as an oriental, — he enforced in his own 
house a discipline of strict abstemiousness, weighing 
and measuring out the food and drink of the family, 
which, indeed, was rather numerous, and consisted of 
his wife, nee Lousteau, his grandson Bomiche with a 
lister Adolphine, the heirs of old Borniche, and lastly, 
his other grandson, Francois Hochon. 

Hochon’s eldest son was taken by the draft of 1813, 
which drew in the sons of well-to-do families who had 


212 


The Two Brothers. 


escaped the regular conscription, and were now formed 
into a corps styled the ‘ ‘ guards of honor.” This heir- 
presumptive, who was killed at Hanau, had married early 
in life a rich woman, intending thereby to escape all con- 
scriptions ; but after he was enrolled, he wasted his sub- 
stance, under a presentiment of his end. His wife, who 
followed the army at a distance, died at Strasburg in 
1814, leaving debts which her father-in-law Hochon 
refused to pay, — answering the creditors with an axiom 
of ancient law, “ Women are minors.” 

The house, though large, was scantily furnished ; on 
the second floor, however, there were two rooms suit- 
able for Madame Bridau and Joseph. Old Hochon now 
repented that he had kept them furnished with two beds, 
each bed accompanied by an old armchair of natural 
wood covered with needlework, and a walnut table, 
on which figured a water-pitcher of the wide-mouthed 
kind called gueulard., standing in a basin with a blue 
border. The old man kept his winter store of apples 
and pears, medlars and quinces on heaps of straw 
in these rooms, where the rats and mice ran riot, so 
that they exhaled a mingled odor of fruit and vermin. 
Madame Hochon now directed that everything should 
be cleaned: the wall-paper, which had peeled off in 
places, was fastened up again with wafers; and she 
decorated the windows with little curtains which she 
pieced together from old hoards of her own. Her hus- 
band having refused to let her buy a strip of drugget, 
she laid down her own bedside carpet for her little Aga- 
the, — “Poor little thing!” as she called the mother, 
who was now over forty-seven years old. Madame 
Hochon borrowed two night-tables from a neighbor, and 
boldly hired two chests of drawers with brass handles 


The Two Brothers. 


213 


from a dealer in second-hand furniture who lived next 
to Mere Cognette. She herself had preserved two pairs 
of candlesticks, carved in choice woods by her own 
father, who had the turning From 1770 to 1780 

it was the fashion among rich people to learn a trade, 
and Monsieur Lousteau, the father, was a turner, just as 
Louis XVI. was a locksmith. These candlesticks were 
ornamented with circlets made of the roots of rose, 
peach, and apricot trees. Madame Hochon actually 
risked the use of her precious relics ! These prepara- 
tions and this sacrifice increased old Hochon’s anxiety ; 
up to this time he had not believed in the arrival of the 
Bridaus. 

The morning of the day that was celebrated by the 
trick on Fario, Madame Hochon said to her husband 
after breakfast : — 

‘‘I hope, Hochon, that you will receive my god- 
daughter, Madame Bridau, properly.” Then, after 
making sure that her grandchildren were out of hear- 
ing, she added : “ I am mistress of my own property ; 
don’t oblige me to make up to Agathe in my will for 
any incivility on 3 "our part.” 

“ Do 3 ’ou think, madame,” answered Hochon, in a 
mild voice, “ that, at my age, I don’t know the forms 
of decent civility?” 

“ You know ver}^ well what I mean, you crafty old 
thing ! Be friendlj’ to our guests, and remember that 
I love Agathe.” 

“And you love Maxence Gilet also, who is getting 
the property away from 3 "our dear Agathe ! Ah ! you ’ve 
warmed a viper in your bosom there ; but after all, the 
llouget money is bound to go to a Lousteau.” 

After making this allusion to the supposed parentage 


214 


The Two Brothers, 


of both Max and Agathe, Hochon turned to leave the 
room ; but old Madame Hochon, a woman still erect 
and spare, wearing a round cap with ribbon knots and 
her hair powdered, a taffeta petticoat of changeable 
colors like a pigeon’s breast, tight sleeves, and her feet 
in high-heeled slippers, deposited her snuff-box on a 
little table, and said : — 

“ Really, Monsieur Hochon, how can a man of your 
sense repeat absurdities which, unhappily, cost my poor 
friend her peace of mind, and Agathe the property which 
she ought to have had from her father. Max Gilet is 
not the son of my brother, whom I often advised to 
save the mone}’^ he paid for him. You know as well as 
I do that Madame Rouget was virtue itself — ” 

“ And the daughter takes after her; for she strikes 
me as uncommonly stupid. After losing all her for- 
tune, she brings up her sons so well that here is one in 
prison and likely to be brought up on a criminal indict- 
ment before the Court of Peers for a conspiracy worthy 
of Berton. As for the other, he is worse off ; he ’s a 
painter. If your proteges are to stay here till they 
have extricated that fool of a Rouget from the claws of 
Gilet and the Rabouilleuse, we shall eat a good deal 
more than half a measure of salt with them.” 

“ That’s enough. Monsieur Hochon ; j^ou had better 
wish the}" may not have two strings to their bow.” 

Monsieur Hochon took his hat, and his cane with an 
ivory knob, and went away petrified by that terrible 
speech ; for he had no idea his wife could show such 
resolution. Madame Hochon took her prayer-book to 
read the service, for her advanced age prevented 
her from going daily to church ; it was only with 
difficulty that she got there on Sunda3’s and holidaj^s. 


The Two Brothers. 


215 


Since receiving her goddaughter’s letter she had added 
a petition to her usual prayers, supplicating God to 
open the eyes of Jean- Jacques Rouget, and to bless 
Agathe and prosper the expedition into which she her- 
self had drawn her. Concealing the fact from her 
grandchildren, whom she accused of being '‘'•parpail- 
lots” she had asked the curate to say a mass for 
Agathe’s success during a neuvaine which was being 
held by her granddaughter, Adolphine Borniche, who 
thus made her prayers in church by proxy. 

Adolphine, then eighteen, — who for the last seven 
years had sewed at the side of her grandmother in that 
cold household of monotonous and methodical customs, 
— had undertaken her neuvaine all the more willingly 
because she hoped to inspire some feeling in Joseph 
Bridau, in whom she took the deepest interest because 
of the monstrosities which her grandfather attributed 
in her hearing to the young Parisian. 

All the old people and sensible people of the town, 
and the fathers of families approved of Madame 
Hochon’s conduct in receiving her goddaughter ; and 
their good wishes for the latter’s success were in pro- 
portion to the secret contempt with which the conduct 
of Maxence Gilet had long inspired them. Thus the 
news of the arrival of Rouget’s sister and nephew 
raised two parties in Issoudun, — that of the higher and 
older bourgeoisie, who contented themselves with offer- 
ing good wishes and in watching events without as- 
sisting them, and that of the Knights of Idleness and 
the partisans of Max, who, unfortunately, were capable 
of committing many high-handed outrages against the 
Parisians. 


216 


The Two Brothers. 


XI. 

Agathe and Joseph arrived at the coach-office of the 
Messageries-Royales in the place Misere at three 
o’clock. Though tired with the journey, Madame 
Bridau felt her youth revive at sight of her native land, 
where at every step she came upon memories and im- 
pressions of her girlish days. In the then condition of 
public opinion in Issoudun, the arrival of the Parisians 
was known all over the town in ten minutes. Madame 
Hochon came out upon her doorstep to welcome her god- 
child, and kissed her as though she were really a daugh- 
ter. After sevent3^-two years of a barren and monotonous 
existence, exhibiting in their retrospect the graves of her 
three children, all unhappy in their lives, and all dead, 
she had come to feel a sort of factitious motherhood 
for the young girl whom she had, as she expressed it, 
carried in her pouch for sixteen years. Through the 
gloom of provincial life the old woman had cherished 
this early friendship, this girlish memor}^ as closely as 
if Agathe had remained near her, and she had also 
taken the deepest interest in Bridau. Agathe was led 
in triumph to the salon where Monsieur Hochon was 
stationed, chilling as a tepid oven. 

“Here is Monsieur Hochon; how does he seem to 
3’ou?” asked his wife. 

“ Precisely the same as when I last saw him,” said 
the Parisian woman. 


The Two Brothers. 


217 


“ Ah ! it is easy to see you come from Paris ; you 
are so complimentary,” remarked the old man. 

The presentations took place: first, young Baruch 
Borniche, a tall youth of twenty-two ; then Frangois 
Hochon, twenty-four ; and lastly little Adolphine, who 
blushed and did not know what to do with her arms ; she 
was anxious not to seem to be looking at Joseph Bridau, 
who in his turn was narrowly observed, though from dif- 
ferent points of view, by the two young men and by old 
Hochon. The miser was sa3dng to himself, “ He is 
just out of the hospital ; he will be as hungry as a con- 
valescent.” The young men were saying, “ What a 
head ! what a brigand ! we shall have our hands full ! ” 

“ This is my son, the painter ; my good Joseph,” 
said Ag^ithe at last, presenting the artist. 

There was an eftort in the accent that she put 
upon the word “ good,” which revealed the mother’s 
heart, whose thoughts were really in the prison of the 
Luxembourg. 

“He looks ill,” said Madame Hochon; “he is not 
at all like you.” 

“ No, madame,” said Joseph, with the brusque can- 
dor of an artist ; “ I am like my father, and very ugly 
at that.” 

Madame Hochon pressed Agathe’s hand which she was 
holding, and glanced at her as much as to say. Ah ! my 
child ; I understand now why you prefer your good-for- 
nothing Philippe. 

“ I never saw your father, my dear boy,” she said 
aloud ; “ it is enough to make me love you that you are 
your mother’s son. Besides, you have talent, so the late 
Madame Descoings used to write to me ; she was the 
onl}' one of late years who told me much about you.” 


218 


The Two Brothers. 


“Talent!” exclaimed the artist, “not as yet; hut 
with time and patience I may win fame and fortune.” 

“ By painting? ” said Monsieur Hochon ironically. 

“Come, Adolphine,” said Madame Hochon, “go 
and see about dinner.” 

“Mother,” said Joseph, “ I will attend to the trunks 
which they are bringing in.” 

“ Hochon,” said tjie grandmother to Fran9ois, “ show 
the rooms to Monsieur Bridau.” 

As the dinner was to be served at four o’clock and it 
was now only half past three, Baruch rushed into the 
town to tell the news of the Bridau arrival, describe 
Agathe’s dress, and more particularly to picture Joseph, 
whose haggard, unhealthy, and determined face was not 
unlike the ideal of a brigand. That evening Joseph 
was the topic of conversation in all the households of 
Issoudun. 

“ That sister of Rouget must have seen a monkey 
before her son was born,” said one ; “ he is the image 
of a baboon.” 

“ He has the face of a brigand and the eyes of a 
basilisk.” 

“ All artists are like that.” 

“ They are as wicked as a red ass, and as spiteful as 
monkeys.” 

“ It is part of their business.” 

“ I have just seen Monsieur Beaussier, and he says 
he would not like to meet him in a dark wood ; he saw 
him in the diligence.” 

“ He has got hollows over the eyes like a horse, and 
he laughs like a maniac.” 

“ The fellow looks as though he were capable of 
anything ; perhaps it ’s his fault that his brother, a fine 


The Two Brothers, 


219 


handsome man they tell me, has gone to the bad. Poor 
Madame Bridau does n’t seem as if she were very happy 
with him.” 

“ Suppose we take advantage of his being here, and 
have our portraits painted ? ” 

The result of all these observations, scattered through 
the town was, naturally, to excite curiosity. All those 
who had the right to visit the Hochons resolved to call 
that very night and examine the Parisians. The arrival 
of these two persons in the stagnant town was like the 
falling of a beam into a community of frogs. 

After stowing his mother’s things and his own into 
the two attic chambers, which he examined as he did so, 
Joseph took note of the silent house, where the walls, 
the stair-case, the wood- work, were devoid of decoration 
and humid with frost, and where there was literally 
nothing beyond the merest necessaries. He felt the 
brusque transition from his poetic Paris to the dumb 
and arid province ; and when, coming downstairs, he 
chanced to see Monsieur Hochon cutting slices of bread 
for each person, he understood, for the first time in his 
life, Moli^re’s Harpagon. 

“ We should have done better to go to an inn,” he 
said to himself. 

The aspect of the dinner confirmed his apprehensions. 
After a soup whose watery clearness showed that 
quantity was more considered than quality, the bouilli 
was served, ceremoniously garnished with parsley j the 
vegetables, in a dish by themselves, being counted into 
the items of the repast. The bouilli held the place of 
honor in the middle of the table, accompanied with 
three other dishes : hard-boiled eggs on sorrel opposite 
to the vegetables ; then a salad dressed with nut-oil to 


220 


The Two Brothers. 


face little cups of custard, whose flavoring of burnt 
oats did service as vanilla, which it resembles much as 
coffee made of chiccory resembles mocha. Butter and 
radishes, in two plates, were at each end of the table ; 
pickled gherkins and horse-radish completed the spread, 
which won Madame Hochon’s approbation. The good 
old woman gave a contented little nod when she saw 
that her husband had done things properly, for the first 
day at least. The old man answered with a glance and 
a shrug of his shoulders, which it was easy to translate 
into — 

“ See the extravagances you force me to commit ! 

As soon as Monsieur Hochon had, as it were, slivered 
the bouilli into slices, about as thick as the sole of a 
dancing-shoe, that dish was replaced by another, con- 
taining three pigeons. The wine was of the country, 
vintage 1811. On a hint from her grandmother, 
Adolphine had decorated each end of the table with a 
bunch of flowers. 

“At Rome as the Romans do,” thought the artist, 
looking at the table, and beginning to eat, — like a man 
who had breakfasted at Vierzon, at six o’clock in the 
morning, on an execrable cup of coffee. When Joseph 
had eaten up all his bread and asked for more. Monsieur 
Hochon rose, slowly searched in the pocket of his surtout 
for a key, unlocked a cupboard behind him, broke off* a 
section of a twelve-pound loaf, carefully cut a round of 
it, then divided the round in two, laid the pieces on a 
plate, and passed the plate across the table to the young 
painter, with the silence and coolness of an old soldier 
who saj'S to himself on the eve of battle, “Well, I 
can meet death.” Joseph took the half-slice, and 
fully understood that he was not to ask for any more. 


The Two Brothers. 


221 


No member of the family was the least surprised at this 
extraordinary performance. The conversation went on. 
Agathe learned that the house in which she was born, 
her father’s house before he inherited that of the 
old Descoings, had been bought by the Borniches ; she 
expressed a wish to see it once more. 

“No doubt,” said her godmother, “the Borniches 
will be here this evening ; we shall have half the town — 
who want to examine you,” she added, turning to 
Joseph, “ and they will all invite you to their houses.” 

Gritte, who, in spite of her sixty years, was the only 
servant of the house, brought in for dessert the famous 
ripe cheese of Touraine and Berry, made of goat’s milk, 
whose mouldy discolorations so distinctly reproduce the 
pattern of the vine-leaves on which it is served, that 
Touraine ought to have invented the art of engraving. 
On either side of these little cheeses Gritte, with a com- 
pany air, placed nuts and some time-honored biscuits. 

“ Well, Gritte, the fruit?” said Madame Hochon. 

“But, madame, there is none rotten,” answered 
Gritte. 

Joseph went off into roars of laughter, as though he 
were among his comrades in the atelier ; for he suddenly 
perceived that the parsimony of eating only the fruits 
which were beginning to rot had degenerated into a 
settled habit. 

“ Bah ! we can eat them all the same,” he exclaimed, 
with the heedless gayety of a man who will have his say. 

“Monsieur Hochon, pray get some,” said the old 
lady. 

Monsieur Hochon, much incensed at the artist’s 
speech, fetched some peaches, pears, and Saint- 
Catherine plums. 


222 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Adolphine, go and gather some grapes,” said Ma- 
dame Hochon to her granddaughter. 

Joseph looked at the two young men as much as to 
say: ‘‘Is it to such living as this that you owe your 
healthy faces ? ” 

Baruch understood the keen glance and smiled ; for 
he and his cousin Hochon were behaving with much dis- 
cretion. The home-life was of less importance to youths 
who supped three times the week at Mere Cognette’s. 
Moreover, just before dinner, Baruch had received 
notice that the grand master convoked the whole Order 
at midnight for a magnificent supper, in the course of 
which a great enterprise would be arranged. The feast 
of welcome given by old Hochon to his guests explains 
how necessary were the nocturnal repasts at the Cog- 
nette’s to two young fellows blessed with good appetites, 
who, we may add, never missed any of them. 

“ We will take the liqueur in the salon,” said Madame 
Hochon, rising and motioning to Joseph to give her his 
arm. As they went out before the others, she whispered 
to the painter : — 

“Eh! my poor boy; this dinner won’t give you 
an indigestion ; but I had hard work to get it for you. 
It is always Lent here ; you will get enough just to 
keep life in you, and no more. So you must bear it 
patiently.” 

The kind-heartedness of the old woman, who thus 
drew her own indictment, pleased the artist. 

“ I have lived fifty years with that man, without ever 
hearing half-a-dozen gold pieces chink in my purse,” 
she went on. “ Oh ! if I did not hope that you might 
save 3'Om’ property, I would never have brought you and 
your mother into my prison.” 


The Two Brothers, 


223 


“ But how can you survive it? ’’ cried Joseph naively, 
with the gayety which a French artist never loses. 

“ Ah, you may well ask ! ” she said. “ I pray. ’’ 

Joseph quivered as he heard the words, which raised 
the old woman so much in his estimation that he stepped 
back a little way to look into her face ; it was radiant 
with so tender a serenity that he said to her, — 

“ Let me paint your portrait.” 

“ No, no, ” she answered, “ I am too weary of life to 
wish to remain here on canvas.” 

Gayly uttering the sad words, she opened a closet, 
and brought out a flask containing ratafla, a domestic 
manufacture of her own, the receipt for which she ob- 
tained from the far-famed nuns to whom is also due 
the celebrated cake of Issoudun, — one of the great 
creations of French confectionery ; which no chef, cook, 
pastiy-cook, or confectioner has ever been able to re- 
produce. Monsieur de Riviere, ambassador at Con- 
stantinople, ordered enormous quantities every year for 
the Seraglio. 

Adolphine held a lacquer tray on which were a 
number of little old glasses with engraved sides and 
gilt edges ; and as her grandmother flUed each of them, 
she carried it to the company. 

“ It seems as though my father’s turn were coming 
round!” exclaimed Agathe, to whom this immutable 
provincial custom recalled the scenes of her youth. 

“ Hochon will go to his club presently to read the 
papers, and we shall have a little time to ourselves, ” 
said the old lady in a low voice. 

In fact, ten minutes later, the three women and 
Joseph were alone in the salon, where the floor was 
never waxed, only swept, and the worsted-work designs 


224 


The Two Brothers. 


in oaken frames with grooved mouldings, and all the 
other plain and rather dismal furniture seemed to Ma- 
dame Bridau to be in exactly the same state as when she 
had left Issoudun. Monarchy, Revolution, Empire, 
and Restoration, which respected little, had certainly 
respected this room where their glories and their dis- 
asters had left not the slightest trace. 

“Ah! my godmother, in comparison with your life, 
mine has been cruelly tried,” exclaimed Madame Bridau, 
surprised to find even a canary which she had known 
when alive, stuffed, and standing on the mantleshelf 
between the old clock, the old brass brackets, and the 
silver candlesticks. 

“My child,” said the old lady, ^‘trials are in the 
heart. The greater and more necessary the resigna- 
tion, the harder the struggle with our own selves. But 
don’t speak of me, let us talk of your aflairs. You are 
directly in front of the enemy,” she added, pointing to 
the windows of the Rouget house. 

“ They are sitting down to dinner,” said Adolphine. 

The young girl, destined for a cloister, was constantly 
looking out of the window, in hopes of getting some 
light upon the enormities imputed to Maxence Gilet, the 
Rabouilleuse, and Jean- Jacques, of which a few words 
reached her ears whenever she was sent out of the room 
that others might talk about them. The old lady now 
told her granddaughter to leave her alone with Ma- 
dame Bridau and Joseph until the arrival of visitors. 

“ For, ” she said, turning to the Parisians, “ I know 
my Issoudun by heart ; we shall have ten or twelve 
batches of inquisitive folk here to-night. ” 

In fact Madame Ilochon had hardly related the events 
and the details concerning the astounding irifiuence 


The Two Brothers. 


225 


obtained by Maxence Gilet and the Rabouilleuse over 
Jean- Jacques Rouget (without, of course, following the 
synthetical method with which they have been pre- 
sented here) , adding the many comments, descriptions, 
and hjrpotheses with which the good and evil tongues 
of the town embroidered them, before Adolphine an- 
nounced the approach of the Borniche, Beaussier, Lous- 
teau-Prangin, Fichet, Goddet-Herau families; in all, 
fourteen persons looming in the distance. 

You now see, my dear child,” said the old lady, 
concluding her tale, “ that it will not be an easy matter 
to get this property out of the jaws of the wolf — ” 

“ It seems to me so difficult — with a scoundrel such 
as you represent him, and a daring woman like that 
crab-girl — as to be actually impossible,” remarked 
Joseph. “We should have to stay a year in Issoudun 
to counteract their influence and overthrow their domin- 
ion over my uncle. Money is n’t worth such a struggle, 
— not to speak of the meannesses to which we should 
have to condescend. My mother has only two weeks’ 
leave of absence; her place is a permanent one, and 
she must not risk it. As for me, in the month of Octo- 
ber I have an important work, which Schinner has just 
obtained for me from a peer of France ; so you see, 
madame, my future fortune is in my brushes.” 

This speech was received by Madame Hochon with 
mute amazement. Though relatively superior to the 
town she lived in, the old lady did not believe in 
painting. She glanced at her goddaughter, and again 
pressed her hand. 

“This Maxence is the second volume of Philippe,” 
whispered Joseph in his mother’s ear, — “ only cleverer 
and better behaved. Well, madame,” ho said, aloud, 
15 


226 The Two Brothers, 

“ we won’t trouble Monsieur Hocbon by staying very 
long.” 

“Ah! you are young; you know nothing of the 
world,” said the old lady. “ A couple of weeks, if you 
are judicious, may produce great results ; listen to my 
advice, and act accordingly.” 

“Oh I willingly ; ” replied Joseph, “ I know I have 
a perfectly amazing incapacity for domestic statesman- 
ship : for example, I am sure I don’t know what Des- 
roches himself would tell us to do if my uncle declines 
to see us.” 

Mesdames Borniche, Goddet-Herau, Beaussier, Lous- 
teau-Prangin and Fichet, decorated with their husbands, 
here entered the room. 

When the fourteen persons were seated, and the 
usual compliments were over, Madame Hochon pre- 
sented her goddaughter Agathe and Joseph. Joseph 
sat in his armchair all the evening, engaged in slyly 
stud 3 dng the sixty faces which, from five o’clock until 
half past nine, posed for him gratis, as he afterwards 
told his mother. Such behavior before the aristocracy 
of Issoudun did not tend to change the opinion of the 
little town concerning him : every one went home ruffled 
b}" his sarcastic glances, uneasy under his smiles, and 
even frightened at his face, which seemed sinister to a 
class of people unable to recognize the singularities of 
genius. 

After ten o’clock, when the household was in bed, 
Madame Hochon kept her goddaughter in her chamber 
until midnight. Secure from interruption, the two 
women told each other the sorrows of their lives, and 
exchanged their sufferings. As Agathe listened to the 
last echoes of a soul that had missed its destiny, and 


The Two Brothers, 


227 


felt the sufferings of a heart, essentially generous and 
charitable, whose charity and generosity could never be 
exercised, she realized the immensity of the desert in 
which the powers of this noble, unrecognized soul had 
been wasted, and knew that she herself, with the little 
jo3"s and interests of her citj^ life relieving the bitter trials 
sent from God, was not the most unhappy of the two. 

“You who are so pious,” she said, “ explain to me 
my shortcomings ; tell me what it is that God is pun- 
ishing in me.” 

“He is preparing us, my child,” answered the old 
woman, “ for the striking of the last hour.” 

At midnight the Knights of Idleness were collecting, 
one by one like shadows, under the trees of the boule- 
vard Baron, and speaking together in whispers. 

“ What are we going to do? ” was the first question 
of each as he arrived. 

“ I think,” said Frangois, “ that Max means merely 
to give us a supper.” 

“ No ; matters are very serious for him, and for the 
Rabouilleuse : no doubt, he has concocted some scheme 
against the Parisians.” 

“ It would be a good joke to drive them away.’’ 

“ My grandfather,” said Baruch, “ is terribly alarmed 
at having two extra mouths to feed, and he ’d seize on 
any pretext — ” 

“Well, comrades!” cried Max softly, now appear- 
ing on the scene, “why are you star-gazing? the 
planets don't distil kirschwasser. Come, let us go to 
Mere Cognette’s ! ” 

“ To M^re Cognette’s ! To Mere Cognette’s ! ” they 
all cried. 


228 


The Two Brothers. 


The cry, uttered as with one voice, produced a clamor 
which rang through the town like the hurrah of troops 
rushing to an assault ; total silence followed. The 
next day, more than one inhabitant must have said to 
his neighbor: “Did you hear those frightful cries last 
night, about one o’clock ? I thought there was surely a 
fire somewhere.” 

A supper worthy of La Cognette brightened the faces 
of the twenty-two guests; for the whole Order was 
present. At two in the morning, as they were be- 
ginning to siroter (a word in the vocabulary of the 
Knights which admirably expresses the act of sipping 
and tasting the wine in small quantities). Max rose 
to speak: — 

“ My dear fellows ! the honor of your grand master 
was grossly attacked this morning, after our memorable 
joke with Fario’s cai’t, — attacked by a vile pedler, and 
what is more, a Spaniard (oh, Cabrera !) ; and I have 
resolved to make the scoundrel feel the weight of my 
vengeance ; always, of course, within the limits we 
have laid down for our fun. After refiecting about it all 
day, I have found a trick which is worth putting into 
execution, — a famous trick, that will drive him crazy. 
While avenging the insult ofiered to the Order in my 
person, we shall be feeding the sacred animals of the 
Egyptians, — ^little beasts which are, after all, the creatures 
of God, and which man unjustly persecutes. Thus we 
see that good is the child of evil, and evil is the offspring 
of good ; such is the paramount law of the universe ! 
I now order 3"ou all, on pain of displeasing your very 
humble grand master, to procure clandestinely^ each 
one of you, twenty rats, male or female as heaven 
l)leases. Collect yoiu* contingent within three day^s. 


The Two Brothers. 


229 


If you can get more, the surplus will be welcome. 
Keep the interesting rodents without food ; for it is 
essential that the delightful little beasts be ravenous 
with hunger. Please observe that I will accept both 
house-mice and field-mice as rats. If we multiply 
twenty-two by twenty, we shall have four hundred ; 
four hundred accomplices let loose in the old church 
of the Capuchins, where Fario has stored all his grain, 
will consume a not insignificant quantity ! But be 
lively about it ! There ’s no time to lose. Fario is to 
deliver most of the grain to his customers in a week 
or so ; and I am determined that that Spaniard shall 
find a terrible deficit. Gentlemen, I have not the 
merit of this invention,” continued Max, observing 
signs of general admiration. “ Render to Caesar that 
which is Caesar’s, and to God that which is God’s. 
My scheme is only a reproduction of Samson’s foxes, 
as related in the Bible. But Samson was an incendi- 
ary, and therefore no philanthropist ; while we, like the 
Brahmins, are the protectors of a persecuted race. 
Mademoiselle Flore Brazier has already set all her 
mouse-traps, and Kouski, my right-arm, is hunting 
field-mice. I have spoken.” 

“ I know,” said Goddet, “ where to find an animal 
that ’s worth forty rats, himself alone.” 

“What ’s that?” 

“ A squirrel.” 

“I offer a little monkey,” said one of the younger 
members, “ he ’ll make himself drunk on wheat.” 

“ Bad, very bad ! ” exclaimed Max, “ it would show 
who put the beasts there.” 

“But we might each catch a pigeon some night,” 
said young Beaussier, “ taking them from different 


230 


The Two Brothers. 


farms ; if we put them through a hole in the roof, 
they’ll attract thousands of others.” 

So, then, for the next week, Fario’s storehouse 
is the order of the night,” cried Max, smiling at 
Beaussier. “Recollect; people get up early in Saint- 
Paterne. Mind, too, that none of you go there without 
turning the soles of your list shoes backward. Knight 
Beaussier, the inventor of pigeons, is made director. 
As for me, I shall take care to leave my imprint on 
the sacks of wheat. Gentlemen, you are, all of you, 
appointed to the commissariat of the Army of Rats. 
If you find a watchman sleeping in the church, you 
must manage to make him drunk, — and do it cleverly, 
— so as to get him far away from the scene of the 
Rodents’ Orgy.” 

“You don’t say anything about the Parisians?” 
questioned Goddet. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Max, “I want time to study 
them. Meantime, I offer my best shotgun — the one 
the Emperor gave me, a treasure from the manufactory 
at Versailles — to whoever finds a way to pla}^ the Bri- 
daus a trick which shall get them into difficulties with 
Monsieur and Madame Hochon, so that those worthy 
old people shall send them oflT, or they shall be forced 
to go of their own accord, — without, understand me, 
injuring the venerable ancestors of my two friends here 
present, Baruch and Francois.” 

“All right! I’ll think of it,” said Goddet, who 
coveted the gun. 

“ If the inventor of the trick does n’t care for the 
gun, he shall have my horse,” added Max. 

After this night twenty brains were tortured to lay a 
plot against Agathe and her son, on the basis of Max’s 


The Two Brothers. 


231 


programme. But the devil alone, or chance, could 
really help them to success ; for the conditions given 
made the thing wellnigh impossible. 

The next morning Agathe and Joseph came down- 
stairs just before the second breakfast, which took 
place at ten o’clock. In Monsieur Hochon’s household 
the name of first breakfast was given to a cup of milk 
and slice of bread and butter which was taken in bed, 
or when rising. While waiting for Madame Hochon, 
who notwithstanding her age went minutely through 
the ceremonies with which the duchesses of Louis XV. ’s 
time performed their toilette, Joseph noticed Jean- 
Jacques Kouget planted squarely on his feet at the 
door of his house across the street. He naturally 
pointed him out to his mother, who was unable to 
recognize her brother, so little did he look like what he 
was when she left him. 

“That is your brother,” said Adolphine, who en- 
tered, giving an arm to her grandmother. 

“ What an idiot he looks like ! ” exclaimed Joseph. 

Agathe clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to 
heaven. 

“What a state they have driven him to! Good 
God ! can that be a man only fifty-seven years old ? ” 

She looked attentively at her brother, and saw Flore 
Brazier standing directly behind him, with her hair 
dressed, a pair of snowy shoulders and a dazzling 
bosom showing through a g^uze neckerchief, which was 
trimmed with lace ; she was wearing a dress with a 
tight-fitting waist, made of grenadine (a silk material 
then much the fashion) , with leg-of-mutton sleeves so- 
called, fastened at the wrists by handsome bracelets. 


232 


The Two Brothers, 


A gold chain rippled over the crab-girPs bosom as 
she leaned forward to give Jean- Jacques his black silk 
cap lest he should take cold. The scene was evidently 
studied. 

“ He}^ ! ’’ cried Joseph, “ there ^s a fine woman, and 
a rare one! She is made, as they say, to paint. 
What fiesh-tints I Oh, the lovely tones I what surface ! 
what curves ! Ah, those shoulders ! She 's a magnifi- 
cent caryatide. What a model she would have been 
for one of Titian’s Venuses ! ” 

Adolphine and Madame Hochon thought he was talk- 
ing Greek ; but Agathe signed to them behind his back, 
as if to say that she was accustomed to such jargon. 

“So you think a creature who is depriving you of 
your property handsome?” said Madame Hochon. 

“That doesn’t prevent her from being a splendid 
model I — just plump enough not to spoil the hips and 
the general contour — ” 

“ My son, you are not in your studio,” said Agathe. 
“ Adolphine is here.” 

“ Ah, true! I did wrong. But you must remember 
that ever since leaving Paris I have seen nothing but 
ugly women — ” 

“ My dear godmother,” said Agathe hastily, “how 
shall I be able to meet my brother, if that creature is 
always with him ? ” 

“Bah!” said Joseph. “I’ll go and see him my- 
self I don’t think him such an idiot, now I find he has 
the sense to rejoice his eyes with a Titian’s Venus.” 

“If he were not an idiot,” said Monsieur Hochon, 
who had come in, “ he would have married long ago and 
had children ; and then you would have no chance at 
the property. It is an ill wind that blows no good.” 


The Two Brothers, 


233 


“ Your son’s idea is very good,” said Madame 
Hochon ; “ he ought to pay the first visit. He can make 
his uncle understand that if you call there he must be 
alone.” 

‘ ‘ That will affront Mademoiselle Brazier,” said old 
Hochon. “ No, no, madame ; swallow the pill. If 3’ou 
can’t get the whole property, secure a small legacy.” 

The Hochons were not clever enough to match Max. 
In the middle of breakfast Kouski brought over a 
letter from Monsieur Rouget, addressed to his sister, 
Madame Bridau. Madame Hochon made her husband 
read it aloud, as follows : — 

My dear Sister, — I learn from strangers of your ar- 
rival in Issoudun. I can guess the reason which made you 
prefer the house of Monsieur and Madame Hochon to mine; 
but if you will come to see me you shall be received as you 
ought to be. I should certainly pay you the first visit if my 
health did not compel me just now to keep the house; 
for which I offer my affectionate regrets. I shall be de- 
lighted to see my nephew, whom I invite to dine with me 
to-morrow, — young men are less sensitive than women 
about the company. It will give me pleasure if Messrs. 
Baruch Borniche and Fran9ois Hochon will accompany him. 

Your affectionate brother, 

J.-J. Rouget. 

“ Say that we are at breakfast, but that Madame 
Bridau will send an answer presently, and the invita- 
tions are all accepted,” said Monsieur Hochon to the 
servant. 

The old man laid his finger on his lips, to require 
silence from everybod3\ When the street-door was 
shut. Monsieur Hochon, little suspecting the intimacy 
between his grandsons and Max, threw one of his 
slyest looks at his wife and Agathe, remarking, — 


234 


The Two Brothers, 


“He is just as capable of writing that note as I am 
of giving away twenty-five louis ; it is the soldier who is 
corresponding with us ! ’’ 

“ What does that portend?’’ asked Madame Hochon. 
“ Well, never mind ; we will answer him. As for you, 
monsieur,” she added, turning to Joseph, “ you must 
dine there ; but if — ” 

The old lady was stopped short by a look from her 
husband. Knowing how warm a friendship she felt for 
Agathe, old Hochon was in dread lest she should leave 
some legacy to her goddaughter in case the latter lost 
the Rouget property. Though fifteen j^ears older than 
his wife, the miser hoped to inherit her fortune, and to 
become eventually the absolute master of their whole 
property. That hope was a fixed idea with him. 
Madame Hochon knew that the best means of ob- 
taining a few concessions from her husband was to 
threaten him with her will. Monsieur Hochon now 
took sides with his guests. An enormous fortune was 
at stake ; with a sense of social justice, he wished 
to see it go to the natural heirs, instead of being 
pillaged by unworthy outsiders. Moreover, the sooner 
the matter was decided, the sooner he should get rid of 
his guests. Now that the struggle between the inter- 
lopers and the heirs, hitherto existing only in his wife’s 
mind, had become an actual fact, Monsieur Hochon’s 
keen intelligence, lulled to sleep by the monotony of 
provincial life, was fully roused. Madame Hochon had 
been agreeably surprised that morning to perceive, from 
a few affectionate words which the old man had said 
to her about Agathe, that so able and subtle an aux- 
iliary was on the Bridau side. 

Towards midday the brains of Monsieur and Madame 


TJie Two Brothers. 


235 


Hochon, of Agathe, and Joseph (the latter much amazed 
at the scrupulous care of the old people in the choice of 
words), were delivered of the following answer, con- 
cocted solely for the benefit of Max and Flore : — 

My dear Brother, — If I have stayed away from Issou- 
dun, and kept up no intercourse with any one, not even with 
you, the fault lies not merely with the strange and false 
ideas my father conceived against me, but with the joys and 
sorrows of my life in Paris ; for if God made me a happy 
wife, he has also deeply afflicted me as a mother. You are 
aware that my son, your nephew Philippe, lies under accu- 
sation of a capital offence in consequence of his devotion to 
the Emperor. Therefore you can hardly be surprised if a 
widow, compelled to take a humble situation in a lottery -offlce 
for a living, should come to seek consolation from those 
among whom she was born. 

The profession adopted by the son who accompanies me is 
one that requires great talent, many sacrifices, and prolonged 
studies before any results can be obtained. Glory for an 
artist precedes fortune ; is not that to say that Joseph, though 
he may bring honor to the family, will still be poor? Your 
sister, my dear Jean-Jacques, would have borne in silence the 
penalties of paternal injustice, but you will pardon a mother 
for reminding you that you have two nephews ; one of whom 
carried the Emperor’s orders at the battle of Montereau and 
served in the Guard at Waterloo, and is now in prison for 
his devotion to Napoleon; the other, from his thirteenth 
year, has been impelled by natural gifts to enter a difficult 
though glorious career. 

I thank you for your letter, my dear brother, with heart- 
felt warmth, for my own sake, and also for Joseph’s, who will 
certainly accept your invitation. Illness excuses everything, 
my dear Jean-Jacques, and I shall therefore go to see you in 
your own house. A sister is always at home with a brother, 
no matter what may be the life he has adopted. 

I embrace you tenderly. Agathe Rouget. 


236 


The Two Brothers, 


“There’s the matter started. Now, when 3^ou see 
him,” said Monsieur Hochon to Agathe, “ you must 
speak plainl}^ to him about his nephews.” 

The letter was carried over by Gritte, who returned 
ten minutes later to render an account to her masters 
of all that she had seen and heard, according to a set- 
tled provincial custom. 

“ Since yesterday Madame has had the whole house 
cleaned up, which she left — ” 

“Whom do you mean by Madame?” asked old 
Hochon. 

“ That ’s what they call the Rabouilleuse over there,” 
answered Gritte. “ She left the salon and all Monsieur 
Rouget’s part of the house in a pitiable state ; but since 
yesterday the rooms have been made to look like what 
they were before Monsieur Maxence went to live there. 
You can see your face on the floors. La Vedie told me 
that Kouski went off on horseback at five o’clock this 
morning, and came back at nine, bringing provisions. It 
is going to be a grand dinner ! — a dinner fit for the arch- 
bishop of Bourges ! There ’s a fine bustle in the kitchen, 
and they are as busy as bees. The old man says, ‘ I 
want to do honor to my nephew,’ and he pokes his nose 
into everything. It appears the Bougets are highly 
flattered by the letter. Madame came and told me so. 
Oh ! she had on such a dress ! I never saw anything 
so handsome in my life. Two diamonds in her ears ! — 
two diamonds that cost, Vedie told me, three thousand 
francs apiece ; and such lace ! rings on her fingers, 
and bracelets ! you ’d think she was a shrine ; and a 
silk dress as fine as an altar-cloth. So then she said to 
me, ‘ Monsieur is delighted to find his sister so amiable, 
and I liope she will permit us to pa}^ her all the atten- 


The Two Brothers, 


237 


tion she deserves. We shall count upon her good 
opinion after the welcome we mean to give her son. 
Monsieur is very impatient to see his nephew.* Ma- 
dame had little black satin slippers ; and her stockings ! 
my ! they were marvels, — flowers in silk and openwork, 
just like lace, and you could see her rosy little feet 
through them. Oh ! she ’s in high feather, and she had 
a lovely little apron in front of her which, Vedie says, 
cost more than two years of our wages put together.” 

“ Well done ! We shall have to dress up,” said the 
artist laughing. 

“ What do you think of all this. Monsieur Hochon ? ” 
said the old lady when Gritte had departed. 

Madame Hochon made Agathe observe her husband, 
who was sitting with his head in his hands, his elbows 
on the arms of his chair, plunged in thought. 

“You have to do with a Maitre Bonin!” said the 
old man at last. “ With your ideas, young man,’* he 
added, looking at Joseph, “ you haven’t force enough 
to struggle with a practised scoundrel like Maxence 
Gilet. No matter what I say to you, you will commit 
some folly. But, at any rate, tell me everything 3’ou 
see, and hear, and do to-night. Go, and God be with 
you ! Try to get alone with your uncle. If, in spite 
of all your genius, you can’t manage it, that in itself 
will throw some light upon their scheme. But if you do 
get a moment alone with him, out of ear-shot, damn it, 
you must pull the wool from his eyes as to the situation 
those two have put him in, and plead your mother’s 
cause.’^ 


238 


The Two Brothers. 


XII. 

At four o’clock, Joseph crossed the open space which 
separated the Rouget house from the Hochon house, — 
a sort of avenue of weakly lindens, two hundred feet 
long and of the same width as the rue Grande Narette. 
When the nephew arrived, Kouski, in polished boots, 
black cloth trousers, white waistcoat, and black coat, 
announced him. The table was set in the large hall, 
and Joseph, who easily distinguished his uncle, went up 
to him, kissed him, and bowed to Flore and Max. 

“We have not seen each other since I came into the 
world, my dear uncle,” said the painter gayly ; “ but 
better late than never.” 

“You are very welcome, my friend,” said the old 
man, looking at his nephew in a dull way. 

“Madame,” Joseph said to Flore with an artist’s 
vivacity, “this morning I was envying my uncle the 
pleasure he enjoys in being able to admire you every 
day.” 

“ Is n’t she beautiful?” said the old man, whose dim 
eyes began to shine. 

“Beautiful enough to be the model of a great 
painter.” 

“Nephew,” said Rbuget, whose elbow Flore was 
nudging, “ this is Monsieur Maxence Gilet ; a man who 
served the Emperor, like your brother, in the Imperial 
Guard.” 

Joseph rose, and bowed. 


The Two Brothers. 239 

“Your brother was in the dragoons, I believe,” said 
Maxence. “ I was only a dust-trotter.” 

“ On foot or on horseback,” said Flore, “ you both of 
you risked your skins.” 

Joseph took note of Max quite as much as Max took 
note of Joseph. Max, who got his clothes from Paris, 
was dressed as the young dandies of that day dressed 
themselves. A pair of light-blue cloth trousers, made 
with very full plaits, covered his feet so that only the 
toes and the spurs of his boots were seen. His waist was 
pinched in by a white waistcoat with chased gold but- 
tons, which was laced behind to serve as a belt. The 
waistcoat, buttoned to the throat, showed off his broad 
chest, and a black satin stock obliged him to hold his 
head high, in soldierly fashion. A handsome gold chain 
hung from a waistcoat pocket, in which the outline of 
a flat watch was barely seen. He was twisting a watch- 
key of the kind called a criquet^ which Breguet had 
lately invented. 

“ The fellow is flne-looking,” thought Joseph, admir- 
ing with a painter's eye the eager face, the air of 
strength, and the intellectual gray eyes which Max had 
inherited from his father, the noble. “ My uncle must 
be a fearful bore, and that handsome girl takes her com- 
pensations. It is a triangular household ; I see that.” 

At this instant, Baruch and Francois entered. 

“Have you been to see the tower of Issoudun?” 
Flore asked Joseph. “No? then if you would like to 
take a little walk before dinner, which will not be served 
for an hour, we will show you the great curiosity of the 
town.” 

“ Gladly,” said the artist, quite incapable of seeing 
the slightest impropriety in so doing. 


240 


The Two Brothers, 


While Flore went to put on her bonnet, gloves, and 
cashmere shawl, Joseph suddenly jumped up, as if an 
enchanter had touched him with his wand, to look at 
the pictures. 

“Ah! you have pictures, indeed, uncle!” he said, 
examining the one that had caught his eye. 

“Yes,” answered the old man. “They came to us 
from the Descoings, who bought them during the Revo- 
lution, when the convents and churches in Berry were 
dismantled.” 

Joseph was not listening ; he was lost in admiration of 
the pictures. 

“ Magnificent ! ” he cried. “ Oh ! what painting ! that 
fellow didn’t spoil his canvas. Dear, dear ! better and 
better, as it is at Nicolet’s — ” 

“ There are seven or eight very large ones up in the 
garret, which were kept on account of the frames,” said 
Gilet. 

“ Let me see them ! ” cried the artist ; and Max took 
him upstairs. 

Joseph came down wildly enthusiastic. Max whispered 
a word to the Rabouilleuse, who took the old man into 
the embrasure of a window, where Joseph heard her 
say in a low voice, but still so that he could hear the 
words : — 

“Your nephew is a painter ; you don’t care for those 
pictures ; be kind, and give them to him.” 

“It seems,” said Jean-Jacques, leaning on Flore’s 
arm to reach the place where Joseph was standtog in 
ecstasy before an Albano, — it seems that 3'ou are a 
painter — ” 

“ Only a rapin,^^ said Joseph. 

“ What may that be?” asked Flore. 


The Two Brothers. 


241 


“ A beginner,” replied Joseph. 

“ Well,” continued Jean-Jacques, “ if these pictures 
can be of any use to you in your business, I give them 
to you, — but without the frames. Oh ! the frames are 
gilt, and besides, they are verj^ funn}^ ; I will put — ” 

‘‘Well done, uncle ! ” cried Joseph, enchanted ; “ I ’ll 
make you copies of the same dimensions, which you can 
put into the frames.” 

“ But that will take your time, and you will want 
canvas and colors,” said Flore. “You will have to 
spend money. Come, Pere Rouget, olfer your nephew 
a hundred francs for each copy ; here are twenty-seven 
pictures, and I think there are eleven very big ones in 
the garret which ought to cost double, — call the whole 
four thousand francs. Oh, yes,” she went on, turn- 
ing to Joseph, “your uncle can well afford to pay you 
four thousand francs for making the copies, since he 
keeps the frames — but bless me ! j’ou ’ll want frames ; 
and they say frames cost more than pictures ; there ’s 
more gold on them. Answer, monsieur,” she continued, 
shaking the old man’s arm. “ Hein ? it is n’t dear ; your 
nephew will take four thousand francs for new pictures 
in the place of the old ones. It is,” she whispered 
in his ear, “ a very good way to give him four thousand 
francs ; he does n’t look to me very flush — ” 

“ Well, nephew, I will pay you four thousand francs 
for the copies — ” 

“ No, no ! ” said the honest Joseph ; “ four thousand 
francs and the pictures, that ’s too much ; the pictures, 
don’t you see, are valuable — ” 

“Accept, simpleton!” said Flore; “he is your 
uncle, you know.” 

“ Very good, I accept,” said Joseph, bewildered by 
16 


242 


The Two Brothers, 


the luck that had befallen him ; for he had recognized a 
Perugino. 

The result was that the artist beamed with satisfac- 
tion as he went out of the house with the Rabouilleuse on 
his arm, all of which helped Maxence’s plans immensely. 
Neither Flore, nor Rouget, nor Max, nor indeed any 
one in Issoudun knew the value of the pictures, and 
the crafty Max thought he had bought Flore’s triumph 
for a song, as she paraded triumphantly before the eyes 
of the astonished town, leaning on the arm of her mas- 
ter’s nephew, and evidently on the best of terms with 
him. People flocked to their doOrs to see the crab-girl’s 
triumph over the famil3\ This astounding event made 
the sensation on which Max counted ; so that when 
they aU returned at flve o’clock, nothing was talked of 
in every household but the cordial understanding be- 
tween Max and Flore and the nephew of old Rouget. 
The incident of the pictures and the four thousand 
francs circulated already'. The dinner, at which Lous- 
teau, one of the court judges, and the Mayor of Issou- 
dun were present, was splendid. It was one of those 
provincial dinners lasting flve hours. The most exqui- 
site wines enlivened the conversation. By nine o’clock, 
at dessert, the painter, seated opposite to his uncle, and 
between Flore and Max, had fraternized with the soldier, 
and thought him the best fellow on earth. Joseph re- 
turned home at eleven o’clock somewhat tipsy. As to 
old Rouget, Kouski carried him to his bed dead-drunk ; 
he had eaten as though he were an aetor from foreign 
parts, and had soaked up the wine like the sands of the 
desert. 

“ Well,” said Max when he was alone with Flore, 
“isn’t this better than making faces at them? The 


The Two Brothers, 


243 


Bridaus are well received, they get small presents, and 
are smothered with attentions, and the end of it is they 
will sing our praises ; they will go away satisfied and 
leave us in peace. To-morrow morning you and I and 
Kouski will take down all those pictures and send them 
over to the painter, so that he shall see them when he 
wakes up. We will put the frames in the garret, and 
cover the walls with one of those varnished papers 
which represent scenes from Telemachus, such as I 
have seen at Monsieur Mouilleron’s.” 

“ Oh, that will be much prettier ! ” said Flore. 

On the moiTOw, Joseph did not wake up till midday. 
From his bed he saw the pictures, which had been 
brought in while he was asleep, leaning one against 
another on the opposite wall. While he examined 
them anew, recognizing each masterpiece, studying the 
manner of each painter, and searching for the signa- 
tures, his mother had gone to see and thank her 
brother, urged thereto by old Hochon, who, having 
heard of the follies the painter had committed the night 
before, almost despaired of the Bridau cause. 

“ Your adversaries have the cunning of foxes,” he 
said to Agathe. “ In all my days I never saw a man 
carry things with such a high hand as that soldier; 
they sa}^ war educates young men ! Joseph has let him- 
self be fooled. They have shut his mouth with wine, 
and those miserable pictures, and four thousand francs ! 
Your artist has n’t cost Maxence much ! ” 

The long-headed old man instructed Madame Bridau 
carefully as to the line of conduct she ought to pursue, 
— advising her to enter into Maxence’s ideas and cajole 
Flore, so as to set up a sort of intimacy with her, and 
thus obtain a few moments’ interview with Jean-Jacques 


244 


The Two Brothers, 


alone. Madame Bridau was very warmly received by 
her brother, to whom Flore had taught his lesson. The 
old man was in bed, quite ill from the excesses of the 
night before. As Agathe, under the circumstances, 
could scarcely begin at once to speak of family matters, 
Max thought it proper and magnanimous to leave the 
brother and sister alone together. The calculation was 
a good one. Poor Agathe found her brother so ill that 
she would not deprive him of Madame Brazier’s care. 

“ Besides,” she said to the old bachelor, “ I wish to 
know a person to whom I am grateful for the happiness 
of my brother.” 

These words gave evident pleasure to the old man, 
who rang for Madame Flore. Flore, as we may well 
believe, was not far off. The female antagonists bowed 
to each other. The Rabouilleuse showed the most ser- 
vile attentions and the utmost tenderness to her mas- 
ter ; fancied his head was too low, beat up the pillows, 
and took care of him like a bride of yesterda3\ The 
poor creature received it with a rush of feeling. 

“ We owe 3'ou much gratitude, mademoiselle,” said 
Agathe, “for the proofs of attachment you have so 
long given to my brother, and for the wa^" in which 
3"ou watch over his happiness.” 

“ That is true, my dear Agathe,” said the old man ; 
“ she has taught me what happiness is ; she is a woman 
of excellent qualities.” 

“And therefore, my dear brother, you ought to 
have recompensed Mademoiselle by making her your 
wife. Yes ! I am too sincere in my religion not to 
wish to see you obey the precepts of the church. You 
would each be more tranquil in mind if you were not at 
variance with morality and the laws. I have come 


The Two Brothers, 


245 


here, my dear brother, to ask for help in my affliction ; 
but do not suppose that we wish to make any remon- 
strance as to the manner in which you ma}' dispose of 
3'our property — ” 

“ Madame,” said Flore, “ we know how unjust j^our 
father was to you. Monsieur, here, can tell 3"ou,” she 
went on, looking fixedlv^ at her victim, “that the only 
quarrels we have ever had were about 3’ou. I have 
alwaj^s told him that he owes 3’ou part of the fortune 
he received from his father, and 3’our father, m3^ bene- 
factor, — for he was m3" benefactor,” she added in a 
tearful voice ; “ I shall ever remember him ! But 3"our 
brother, madame, has listened to reason — ” 

“Yes,” said the old man, “when I make my will 
3'ou shall not be forgotten.” 

“ Don’t talk of these things, my dear brother; 3^ou 
do not 3"et know m3" nature.” 

After such a beginning, it is easy to imagine how 
the visit went on. Kouget invited his sister to dinner 
on the next day but one. 

We may here mention that during these three da3"s 
the Knights of Idleness captured an immense quantit3" of 
rats and mice, which were kept half-famished until the3^ 
were let loose in the grain one fine night, to the number of 
four hundred and thirt3"-six, of which some were breed- 
ing mothers. Not content with providing Fario’s store- 
house with these boarders, the Knights made holes in 
the roof of the old church and put in a dozen pigeons, 
taken from as many different farms. These four-footed 
and feathered creatures held high revels, — all the more 
securely because the watchman was enticed away by a 
fellow who kept him drunk from morning till night, so 
that he took no care of his master’s property. 


246 


The Two Brothers. 


Madame Bridau believed, contrary to the opinion of 
old Hochon, that her brother had as yet made no will ; 
she intended asking him what were his intentions re- 
specting Mademoiselle Brazier, as soon as she could 
take a walk with him alone, — a hope which Flore and 
Maxeuce were always holding out to her, and, of course, 
always disappointing. 

Meantime the Knights were searching for a way to 
put the Parisians to flight, and finding none that were 
not impracticable follies. 

At the end of a week — half the time the Parisians 
were to stay in Issoudun — the Bridaus were no far- 
ther advanced in their object than when the^^ came. 

“Your lawj^er does not understand the provinces,” 
said old Hochon to Madame Bridau. “ What you have 
come to do can’t be done in two weeks, nor in two 
years ; you ought never to leave your brother, but live 
here and try to give him some ideas of religion. You 
cannot countermine the fortifications of Flore and Max- 
ence without getting a priest to sap them. That is my 
advice, and it is high time to set about it.” 

“ You certainly have very singular ideas about the 
clergy,” said Madame Hochon to her husband. 

“ Bah ! ” exclaimed the old man, “ that ’s just like 
you pious women.” 

“ God would never bless an enterprise undertaken in 
a sacrilegious spirit,” said Madame Bridau. “ Use re- 
ligion for such a purpose ! Why, we should be more 
criminal than Flore.” 

This conversation took place at breakfast, — Fran 9 ois 
and Baruch listening with all their ears. 

“ Sacrilege ! ” exclaimed old Hochon. “ If some 
good abb(5, keen as I have known many of them to be. 


The Two Brothers. 


247 


knew what a dilemma you are in, he would not think it 
sacrilege to bring your brother’s lost soul back to God, 
and call him to repentance for his sins, by forcing him 
to send away the woman who causes the scandal (with 
a proper provision, of course), and showing him how to 
set his conscience at rest by giving a few thousand 
francs a year to the seminary of the archbishop and 
leaving his propertj^ to the rightful heirs.” 

The passive obedience which the old miser had al- 
ways exacted from his children, and now from his 
grandchildren (who were under his guardianship and for 
whom he was amassing a small fortune, doing for them, 
he said, just as he would for himself), prevented Baruch 
and Fran9ois from showing signs of surprise or disap- 
proval ; but they exchanged significant glances express- 
ing how dangerous and fatal such a scheme would be to 
Max’s interest. 

“ The fact is, madame,” said Baruch, “ that if you 
want to secure your brother’s property, the only sure 
and true way will be to stay in Issoudun for the neces- 
sary length of time — ” 

“Mother,” said Joseph hastily, “you had better 
write to Desroches about all this. As for me, I ask 
nothing more than what my uncle has already given 
me.” 

After fully recognizing the great value of his thirty- 
nine pictures, Joseph had carefully unnailed the can- 
vases and fastened paper over them, gumming it at the 
edges with ordinary glue ; he then laid them one above 
another in an enormous wooden box, which he sent to 
Desroches by the carrier’s waggon, proposing to write 
him a letter about it by post. This precious freight had 
been sent off the night before. 


248 


The Two Brothers^ 


‘‘ You are satisfied with a pretty poor bargain,” said 
Monsieur Hochon. 

“ I can easily get a hundred and fifty thousand francs 
for those pictures,” replied Joseph. 

“ Painter’s nonsense ! ” exclaimed old Hochon, giv- 
ing Joseph a pecuUar look. 

“Mother,” said Joseph, “ I am going to write to 
Desroches and explain to him the state of things here. 
If he advises you to remain, you had better do so. As 
for your situation, we can always find you another 
like it.” 

“ M}^ dear Joseph,” said Madame Hochon, following 
him as he left the table, “ I d6n’t know anything about 
your uncle’s pictures, but they ought to be good, judging 
by the places from which they came. If they are worth 
only forty thousand francs, — a thousand francs apiece, 
— tell no one. Though m3" grandsons are discreet and 
well-behaved, they might, without intending harm, 
speak of this windfall ; it would be known all over 
Issoudun ; and it is very important that our adversaries 
should not suspect it. You behave like a child ! ” 

In fact, before evening many persons in Issoudun, 
including Max, were informed of this estimate, which 
had the immediate effect of causing a search for all the 
old paintings which no one had ever cared for, and the 
appearance of many execrable daubs. Max repented 
having driven the old man into giving away the pictures, 
and the rage he felt against the heirs after hearing from 
Baruch old Hochon’s ecclesiastical scheme, was in- 
creased by what he termed his own stupidit}^ The 
influence of religion upon such a feeble creature as 
Rouget was the one thing to fear. The news brought 
by his two comrades decided Maxence Gilet to turn all 


The Two Brothers. 


249 


Rouget’s investments into money, and to borrow upon 
his landed property, so as to buy into the Funds as soon 
as possible ; but he considered it even more important 
to get rid of the Parisians at once. The genius of the 
Mascarilles and Scapins put together would hardly have 
solved the latter problem easily. 

Flore, acting by Max’s advice, pretended that Mon- 
sieur was too feeble to take walks, and that he ought, 
at his age, to have a carriage. This pretext grew out 
of the necessit}" of not exciting inquiry when they went 
to Bourges, Vierzon, Chateauroux, Vatan, and all the 
other places where the project of withdrawing invest- 
ments obliged Max and Flore to betake themselves 
with Rouget. At the close of the week, all Issoudun 
was amazed to learn that the old man had gone to 
Bourges to buy a carriage, — a step which the Knights 
of Idleness regarded as favorable to the Rabouilleuse. 
Flore and Max selected a hideous herlingot^ with 
cracked leather curtains and windows without glass, 
aged twenty-two years and nine campaigns, sold on the 
decease of a colonel, the friend of grand-marshal Ber- 
trand, who, during the absence of that faithful com- 
panion of the Emperor, was left in charge of the affairs 
of Berry. This berlingot^ painted bright green, was 
somewhat like a caleche, though shafts had taken the 
place of a pole, so that it could be driven with one 
horse. It belonged to a class of carriages brought 
into vogue by diminished fortunes, which at that time 
bore the candid name of demi-fortune ; at its first 
introduction it was called a seringue. The cloth lining 
of this demi-fortune, sold under the name of caleche, 
was moth-eaten ; its gimps looked like the chevrons of 
an old Invalide ; its rusty joints squeaked, — but it only 


250 


The Two BrotheYs, 


cost four hundred and fifty francs ; and Max bought a 
good stout mare, trained to harness, from an officer of a 
regiment then stationed at Bourges. He had the car- 
riage repainted a dark brown, and bought a tolerable 
harness at a bargain. The whole town of Issoudun was 
shaken to its centre in expectation of Pere Rouget’s 
equipage ; and on the occasion of its first appearance, 
every household was on its door-step and curious faces 
were at all the windows. 

The second time the old bachelor went out he drove 
to Bourges, where, to escape the trouble of attending 
personally to the business, or, if you prefer it, being 
ordered to do so by Flore, he went before a notary and 
signed a power of attorney in favor of Maxence Gilet, 
enabling him to make all the transfers enumerated in 
the document. Flore reserved to herself the business 
of making Monsieur sell out the investments in Issou- 
dun and its immediate neighborhood. The principal 
notary in Bourges was requested by Rouget to get him 
a loan of one hundred and forty thousand francs on his 
landed estate. Nothing was known at Issoudun of 
these proceedings, which were secretly and cleverly car- 
ried out. Maxence, who was a good rider, went with 
his own horse to Bourges and back between five in the 
morning and five in the afternoon. Flore never left the 
old bachelor. Rouget consented without objection to 
the action Flore dictated to him ; but he insisted that 
the investment in the Funds, producing fifty thousand 
francs a year, should stand in Flore’s name as hold- 
ing a life-interest only, and in his as owner of the 
principal. The tenacity the old man displayed in the 
domestic disputes which this idea created caused Max 
a good deal of anxiety; he thought he could see the 


The Two Brothers. 


251 


result of reflections inspired by the sight of the natural 
heirs. 

Amid all these important movements, which Max 
concealed from the knowledge of everyone, he forgot 
the Spaniard and his granary. Fario came back to 
Issoudun to deliver his corn, after various trips and 
business manoeuvres undertaken to raise the price of 
cereals. The morning after his arrival he noticed that 
the roof of the church of the Capuchins opposite to 
where he lived was black with pigeons. He cursed 
himself for having neglected to examine its condition, 
and hurried over to look into his storehouse, where he 
found half his grain devoured. Thousands of mice- 
marks and rat-marks scattered about showed a second 
cause of ruin. The church was a Noah’s-ark. But 
anger turned the Spaniard white as a bit of cambric 
when, tr3’ing to estimate the extent of the destruction 
and his consequent losses, he noticed that the grain at 
the bottom of the heap, near the floor, was sprouting 
from the effects of water, which Max had managed to 
introduce by means of tin tubes into the veiy centre of 
the pile of wheat. The pigeons and the rats could be 
explained by animal instinct ; but the hand of man was 
plainh^ visible in this last sign of malignity. 

Fario sat down on the steps of a chapel altar, holding 
his head between his hands. After half an hour of Span- 
ish reflections, he spied the squirrel, which Goddet could 
not refrain from giving him as a guest, playing with its 
tail upon a cross-beam, on the middle of which rested one 
of the uprights that supported the roof. The Spaniard 
rose and turned to his watchman with a face that was as 
calm and cold as an Arab’s. He made no complaint, 
but went home, hired laborers to gatlier into sacks what 


252 


The Two Brothers. 


remained of the sound grain, and to spread in the sun 
all that was moist, so as to save as much as possible ; 
then, after estimating that his losses amounted to about 
three fifths, he attended to filling his orders. But his 
previous manipulations of the market had raised the 
price of cereals, and he lost on the three fifths he was 
obliged to buy to fill his orders ; so that his losses 
amounted really to more than half. The Spaniard, who 
had no enemies, at once attributed this revenge to Gilet. 
He was convinced that Maxence and some others were 
the authors of all the nocturnal mischief, and had in 
all probability carried his cart up the embankment of 
the tower, and now intended to amuse themselves by 
ruining him. It was a matter to him of over three 
thousand francs, — very nearly the whole capital he had 
laboriously scraped together since the peace. Driven 
by the desire for vengeance, the man now displayed 
the cunning and the stealthy persistence of a detective 
to whom a large reward is offered. Hiding at night in 
different parts of Issoudun, he soon acquired proof of 
the proceedings of the Knights of Idleness ; he saw 
them all, counted them, watched their rendezvous, and 
knew of their suppers at Mere Cognette’s ; after that 
he lay in wait to witness one of their deeds, and thus 
became well informed as to their nocturnal habits. 

In spite of Max’s journeys and pre-occupations, he 
had no intention of neglecting his nightly employ- 
ments, — first, because he did not wish his comrades to 
suspect the secret of his operations with Pere Rouget’s 
property; and secondly, to keep the Knights well in 
hand. They were therefore convened for the prepar- 
ation of a prank which might deserve to be talked of 
for years to come. Poisoned meat was to be thrown 


The Two Brothers. 


253 


on a given night to every watch-dog in the town and in 
the environs. Fario overheard them congratulating each 
other, as they came out from a supper at the Cognettes’, 
on the probable success of the performance, and laugh- 
ing over the general mourning that would follow this 
novel massacre of the innocents, — revelling, moreover, 
in the apprehensions it would excite as to the sinister 
object of depriving all the households of their guardian 
watch-dogs. 

“ It will make people forget Fario’s cart,” said 
Goddet. 

Fario did not need that speech to confirm his sus 
picions ; besides, his mind was already made up. 

After three weeks’ stay in Issoudun, Agathe was 
convinced, and so was Madame Hochon, of the truth 
of the old miser’s observation, that it would take years 
to destroy the influence which Max and the Rabouilleuse 
had acquired over her brother. She had made no 
progress in Jean- Jacques’s confidence, and she was 
never left alone with him. On the other hand. Made- 
moiselle Brazier triumphed openly over the heirs by 
taking Agathe to drive in the caleche, sitting beside her 
on the back seat, while Monsieur Rouget and his nephew 
occupied the front. Mother and son impatiently awaited 
an answer to the confidential letter they had written to 
Desroches. The day before the night on which the dogs 
were to be poisoned, Joseph, who was nearly bored to 
death in Issoudun, received two letters: the first from 
the great painter Schinner, — whose age allowed him a 
closer intimacy than Joseph could have with Gros, their 
master, — and the second from Desroches. 

Here is the first, postmarked Beaumont-sur-Oise : — 


254 


The Two Brothers. 


My dear Joseph, — I have just finished the princi- 
pal panel-paintings at the chateau de Presles for the Comte 
de Serizy. I have left all the mouldings and the decorative 
painting; and I have recommended you so strongly to the 
count, and also to Grindot the architect, that you have 
nothing to do but pick up your brushes and come at once. 
Prices are arranged to please you. I am off to Italy with 
my wife; so you can have Mistigris to help you along. Tlie 
young scamp has talent, and I put him at your disposal. 
He is twittering like a sparrow at the very idea of amusing 
himself at the ch§.teau de Presles. 

Adieu, my dear Joseph ; if I am still absent, and should 
send nothing to next year’s Salon, you must take my place. 
Yes, dear Jojo, I kiiow your picture is a masterpiece, but a 
masterpiece which will rouse a hue and cry about roman- 
ticism; you are doomed to lead the life of a devil in holy 
water. Adieu. 

Thy friend, 

SCHINNER. 

Here follows the letter of Desroches : — 

My dear Joseph, — Your Monsieur Hochon strikes me 
as an old man full of common-sense, and you give me a high " 
idea of his methods ; he is perfectly right. My advice, since 
you ask it, is that your mother should remain at Issoudun with 
Madame Hochon, paying a small board, — say four hundred 
francs a year, — to reimburse her hosts for what she eats. 
Madame Bridau ought, in my opinion, to follow Monsieur 
Hochon’s advice in everything ; for your excellent mother 
will have many scruples in dealing with persons who have 
no scruple at all, and whose behavior to her is a master- 
stroke of policy. That Maxence, you are right enough, is 
dangerous. He is another Philippe, but of a different cali- 
bre. The scoundrel makes his vices serve his fortunes, and 
gets his amusement gratis ; whereas your brother’s follies are 
never useful to him. All that you say alarms me, but I could 
do no good by going to Issoudun. Monsieur Hochon, acting 


The Two Brothers. 


255 


behind your mother, will be more useful to you than I. As 
for you, you had better come back here; you are good for 
nothing in a matter which requires continual attention, care- 
ful observation, servile civilities, discretion in speech, and a 
dissimulation of manner and gesture which is wholly against 
the grain of artists. 

If they have told you no will has been made, you may be 
quite sure they have possessed one for a long time. But 
wills can be revoked, and as long as your fool of an uncle 
lives he is no doubt susceptible of being worked upon by 
remorse and religion. Your inheritance will be the result of 
a combat between the Church and the Rabouilleuse. There 
will inevitably come a time when that woman will lose her 
grip on the old man, and religion will be all-powerful. So 
long as your uncle makes no gift of the property during his 
lifetime, and does not change the nature of his estate, all 
may come right w^henever religion gets the upper hand. 
For this reason, you must beg Monsieur Hochon to keep an 
eye, as well as he can, on the condition of your uncle’s 
property. It is necessary to know if the real estate is mort- 
gaged, and if so, where and in whose name the proceeds are 
invested. It is so easy to terrify an old man with fears 
about his life, in case you find him despoiling his own 
property for the sake of these interlopers, that almost any 
heir with a little adroitness could stop the spoliation at the 
outset. But how should your mother, with her ignorance of 
the world, her disinterestedness, and her religious ideas, know 
how to manage such an affair ? However, I am not able to 
throw any light on the matter. All that you have done so 
far has probably given the alarm, and your adversaries may 
already have secured themselves — 

“That is what I call an opinion in good shape” 
exclaimed Monsieur Hochon, proud of being himself 
appreciated by a Parisian lawyer. 

“ Oh ! Desroches is a famous fellow,” answered 
Joseph. 


256 


The Two Brothers, 


“ It would be well to read that letter to the two 
women,” said the old man. 

“ There it is,” said Joseph, giving it to him ; “ as to 
me, I want to be off to-morrow ; and I am now going to 
say good-by to my uncle.” 

“Ah!” said Monsieur Hochon, “I see that Mon- 
sieur Desroches tells you in a postscript to burn the 
letter.” 

“You can burn it after showing it to my mother,” 
said the painter. 

Joseph dressed, crossed the little square, and called 
on his uncle, who was just finishing breakfast. Max 
and Flore were at table. 

“ Don’t disturb yourself, my dear uncle ; I have only 
come to say good-by.” 

“You are going?” said Max, exchanging glances 
with Flore. 

“ Yes ; I have some work to do at the chateau of 
Monsieur de Serizy, and I am all the more glad of it 
because his arm is long enough to do a service to my 
my poor brother in the Chamber of Peers.” 

“Well, well, go and work;” said old Rouget, with 
a silly air. Joseph thought him extraordinarily changed 
within a few days. “ Men must work — I am sorry you 
are going.” 

“Oh! my mother will be here some time longer,” 
remarked Joseph. 

Max made a movement with his lips which the Ra- 
bouilleuse observed, and which signified: “They are 
going to try the plan Baruch warned me of.” 

“ I am very glad I came,” said Joseph, “for I have 
had the pleasure of making your acquaintance and you 
have enriched my studio — ” 


The Two Brothers, 


257 


“Yes,” said Flore, “instead of enlightening your 
uncle on the value of his pictures, which is now esti- 
mated at over one hundred thousand francs, you have 
packed them off in a hurry to Paris. Poor dear man ! 
he is no better than a baby ! We have just been told 
of a little treasure at Bourges, — what did they call 
it? a Poussin, — which was in the choir of the cathedral 
before the Revolution, and is now worth, all by itself, 
thirty thousand francs.” 

“ That was not right of you, my nephew,” said Jean- 
Jacques, at a sign from Max, which Joseph could not 
see. 

“ Come now, frankly,” said the soldier, laughing, 
“on your honor, what should you say those pictures 
were worth ? You ’ve made an easy haul out of your 
uncle ! and right enough, too, — uncles are made to be 
pillaged. Nature deprived me of uncles, but damn it, 
if I ’d had any I should have shown them no mercy.” 

“Did you know, monsieur,” said Flore to Rouget, 
“ what your pictures were worth ? How much did you 
say. Monsieur Joseph? ” 

“Well,” answered the painter, who had grown as 
red as a beetroot, — “ the pictures are certainly worth 
something.” 

“ They sa}^ you estimated them to Monsieur Hochon 
at one hundred and fifty thousand francs,” said Flore ; 
“is that true?” 

“ Yes,” said the painter, with childlike honesty. 

“ And did you intend,” said Flore to the old man, 
“ to give a hundred and fifty thousand francs to your 
nephew ? ” 

“ Never, never ! ” cried Jean- Jacques, on whom Flore 
had fixed her eye. 


17 


258 


The Two Brothers. 


“ There is one way to settle all this,” said the 
painter, “and that is to return them to you, uncle.” 

“ No, no, keep them,” said the old man. 

“ I shall send them back to you,” said Joseph, 
wounded by the offensive silence of Max and Flore. 
“ There is something in my brushes which will make my 
fortune, without owing anything to any one, even an 
uncle. My respects to you, mademoiselle ; good-da}^ 
monsieur — ” 

And Joseph crossed the square in a state of irrita- 
tion which artists can imagine. The entire Hochon 
family were in the salon. When the}- saw Joseph gestic- 
ulating and talking to himself, they asked him what was 
the matter. The painter, who was as open as the day, 
related before Baruch and Fran9ois the scene that had 
just taken place ; and which, two hours later, thanks to 
the two young men, was the talk of the whole town, 
embroidered with various circumstances that were 
more or less ridiculous. Some persons insisted that 
the painter was maltreated by Max ; others that he 
had misbehaved to Flore, and that Max had turned 
him out of doors. 

“What a child your son is!” said Hochon to Ma- 
dame Bridau ; “ the booby is the dupe of a scene which 
they have been keeping back for the last da}" of his 
visit. Max and the Rabouilleuse have known the value 
of those pictures for the last two weeks, — ever since 
he had the folly to tell it before my grandsons, who 
never rested till they had blurted it out to all the world. 
Your artist had better have taken himself off without 
taking leave.” 

“ My son has done right to return the pictures if they 
are really so valuable,” said Agathe. 


The Two Brothers, 


259 


“ If they are worth, as he says, two hundred thou- 
sand francs,” said old Hochon, “it was folly to put 
himself in the way of being obliged to return them. 
You might have had that, at least, out of the propertj- ; 
whereas, as things are going now, you won’t get any- 
thing. And this scene with Joseph is almost a reason 
why your brother should refuse to see you again.” 


260 


The Two Brothers. 


XIII. 

Between midnight and one o’clock, the Knights of 
Idleness began their gratuitous distribution of comesti- 
bles to the dogs of the town. This memorable expedi- 
tion was not over till three in the morning, the hour 
at which these reprobates went to sup at Cognette’s. 
At half-past four, in the early dawn, they crept home. 
Just as Max turned the corner of the rue I’Avenier into 
the Grande rue, Fario, who stood ambushed in a recess, 
struck a knife at his heart, drew out the blade, and 
escaped by the moat towards Vilatte, wiping the blade of 
his knife on his handkerchief. The Spaniard washed 
the handkerchief in the Riviere forcee, and returned 
quietly to his lodgings at Saint-Paterne, where he got in 
by a window he had left open, and went to bed : later, 
he was awakened by his new watchman, who found him 
fast asleep. 

As he fell. Max uttered a fearful cry which no one 
could mistake. Lousteau-Prangin, son of a judge, a 
distant relation to the family of the sub-delegate, and 
young Goddet, who lived at the lower end of the Grande 
rue, ran at full speed up the street, calling to each 
other, — 

“ They are killing Max ! Help ! help ! ” 

But not a dog barked ; and all the town, accustomed 
to the false alarms of these nightly prowlers, stayed 
quietly in their beds. When his two comrades reached 
him, Max had fainted. It was necessary to rouse Mon- 


The Two Brothers. 


261 


sieur Goddet, the surgeon. Max had recognized Fario ; 
but when he came to his senses, with several persons 
about him, and felt that his wound was not mortal, it 
suddenly occurred to him to make capital out of the 
attack, and he said, in a faint voice, — 

‘ ‘ I think I recognized that cursed painter ! ” 

Thereupon Lousteau-Prangin ran off to his father, the 
judge. Max was carried home by Cognette, young 
Goddet, and two other persons. Mere Cognette and 
Monsieur Goddet walked beside the stretcher. Those 
who carried the wounded man naturall}' looked across 
at Monsieur Hochon’s door while waiting for Kouski 
to let them in, and saw Monsieur Hochon’s servant 
sweeping the steps. At the old miser’s, as everywhere 
else in the provinces, the household was early astir. 
The few words uttered b}’' Max had roused the sus- 
picions of Monsieur Goddet, and he called to the 
woman, — 

“ Gritte, is Monsieur Joseph Bridau in bed?” 

“Bless me!” she said, “he went out at half-past 
four. I don’t know what ailed him ; he walked up and 
down his room all night.” 

This simple answer drew forth such exclamations of 
horror that the woman came over, curious to know 
what they were carrying to old Rouge t’s house. 

“A precious fellow he is, that painter of yours!” 
they said to her. And the procession entered the house, 
leaving Gritte open-mouthed with amazement at the 
sight of Max in his bloody shirt, stretched half-fainting 
on a mattress. 

Artists will readily guess what ailed Joseph, and kept 
him restless all night. He imagined the tale the bour- 
geoisie of Issoudun would tell of him. They would say 


262 


The Two Brothers. 


he had fleeced his uncle ; that he was everything but 
what he had tried to be, — a loyal fellow and an hon- 
est artist ! Ah ! he would Jiave given his great picture 
to have flown like a swallow to Paris, and thrown 
his uncle’s paintings at Max’s nose. To be the one 
robbed, and to be thought the robber ! — what irony ! 
So at the earliest dawn, he had started for the poplar 
avenue which led to Tivoli, to give free course to his 
agitation. 

While the innocent fellow was vowing, by way of 
consolation, never to return to Issoudun, Max was 
preparing a horrible outrage for his sensitive spirit. 
When Monsieur Goddet had probed the wound and 
discovered that the knife, turned aside b}^ a little 
pocket-book, had happily spared Max’s life (though 
making a serious wound), he did as all doctors, and 
particularly country surgeons, do ; he paved the way 
for his own credit by “ not answering for the patient’s 
life ; ” and then, after dressing the soldier’s wound, and 
stating the verdict of science to the Rabouilleuse, Jean- 
Jacques Rouget, Kouski, and the Vedie, he left the 
house. The Rabouilleuse came in tears to her dear 
Max, while Kouski and the Vedie told the assembled 
crowd that the captain was in a fair way to die. The 
news brought nearly two hundred persons in groups 
about the place Saint- Jean and the two Narettes. 

“ I sha’ n’t be a month in bed ; and I know who struck 
the blow,” whispered Max to Flore. “ But we ’ll profit 
by it to get rid of the Parisians. I have said I thought 
1 recognized the painter ; so pretend that 1 am expected 
to die, and try to have Joseph Bridau arrested. Let him 
taste a prison for a couple of da3’s, and I know well 
enough the mother will be off in a jiffy for Paris when 


The Two Brothers. 


263 


she gets him out. And then we need n’t fear the 
priests they talk of setting on the old fool.” j 

When Flore Brazier came downstairs, she found the 
assembled crowd quite prepared to take the impression 
she meant to give them. She went out with tears in her 
eyes, and related, sobbing, how the painter, “who had 
just the face for that sort of thing,” had been angry 
with Max the night before about some pictures he had 
“ wormed out ” of Pere Rouget. 

“ That brigand — for you ’ve only got to look at him 
to see what he is — thinks that if Max were dead, his 
uncle would leave him his fortune ; as if,” she cried, 
“a brother were not more to him than a nephew! 
Max is Doctor Rouge t’s son. The old one told me so 
before he died ! ” 

“Ah! he meant to do the deed just before he left 
Issoudun ; he chose his time, for he was going away 
to-day,” said one of the Knights of Idleness. 

“ Max has n’t an enemy in Issoudun,” said another. 

“ Besides, Max recognized the painter,” said the 
Rabouilleuse. 

“ Where ’s that cursed Parisian? Let us find him ! ” 
they all cried. 

“Find him?” was the answer, “why, he left Mon- 
sieur Hochon’s at daybreak.” 

A Knight of Idleness ran off at once to Monsieur 
Mouilleron. The crowd increased ; and the tumult 
became threatening. Excited groups filled up the 
whole of the Grande-Narette. Others stationed them- 
selves before the church of Saint- Jean. An assemblage 
gathered at the porte Vilatte, which is at the farther 
end of the Petite-Narctte. Monsieur Lousteau-Prangin 
and Monsieur Mouilleron, the commissary of police, 


264 


The Two Brothers. 


the lieutenant of gendarmes, and two of his men, had 
some difficulty in reaching the place Saint-Jean through 
two hedges of people, whose cries and exclamations 
could and did prejudice them against the Parisian ; who 
was, it is needless to say, unjustly accused, although, it 
is true, circumstances told against him. 

After a conference between Max and the magistrates. 
Monsieur Mouilleron sent the commissary of police and 
a sergeant with one gendarme to examine what, in the 
language of the ministry of the interior, is called “ the 
theatre of the crime.” Then Messieurs Mouilleron 
and Lousteau-Prangin, accompanied by the lieutenant 
of gendarmes crossed over to the Hochon house, which 
was now guarded by two gendarmes in the garden and 
two at the front door. The crowd was still increasing. 
The whole town was surging in the Grande rue. 

Gritte had rushed terrified to her master, crying out : 
“ Monsieur, we shall be pillaged ! the town is in revolt ; 
Monsieur Maxence Gilet has been assassinated ; he is 
dj’ing ! and they say it is Monsieur Joseph who has 
done it ! ” 

Monsieur Hochon dressed quickly, and came down- 
stairs ; but seeing the angry populace, he hastily re- 
treated within the house, and bolted the door. On 
questioning Gritte, he learned that his guest had left 
the house at daybreak, after walking the floor all night 
in great agitation, and had not yet come in. Much 
alarmed, he went to find Madame Hochon, who was 
already awakened by the noise, and to whom he told 
the frightful news which, true or false, was causing 
almost a riot in Issoudun. 

“ He is innocent, of course,” said Madame Hoehon. 

“ But before his innocence can be proved, the crowd 


The Two Brothers, 


265 


may get in here and pillage us,” said Monsieur Hochon, 
livid with fear, for he had gold in his cellar. 

“ Where is Agathe? ” 

“ Sound asleep.” 

“Ah! so much the better,” said Madame Hochon. 
“ I wish she may sleep on till the matter is cleared 
up. Such a shock might kill the poor child.” 

But Agathe woke up and came down half-dressed; 
for the evasive answers of Gritte, whom she questioned, 
had disturbed both her head and heart. She found 
Madame Hochon, looking very pale, with her eyes full 
of tears, at one of the windows of the salon beside her 
husband. 

“ Courage, my child. God sends us our afflictions,” 
said the old lady. “ Joseph is accused — ” 

“Of what?” 

“ Of a bad action which he could never have com- 
mitted,” answered Madame Hochon. 

Hearing the words, and seeing the lieutenant of gen- 
darmes, who at this moment entered the room accom- 
panied by the two gentlemen, Agathe fainted away. 

“ There now ! ” said Monsieur Hochon to his wife 
and Gritte, “ carry off Madame Bridau ; women are 
only in the way at these times. Take her to her room 
and stay there, both of you. Sit down, gentlemen,” 
continued the old man. “The mistake to which we 
owe your visit will soon, I hope, be cleared up.” 

“Even if it should be a mistake,” said Monsieur 
Mouilleron, “ the excitement of the crowd is so great, 
and their minds are so exasperated, that I fear for the 
safety of the accused. I should like to get him arrested, 
and that might satisfy these people.” 

“ Who would ever have believed that Monsieur 


266 


The Two Brothers, 


Maxence Gilet had inspired so much affection in this 
town?” said Lousteau-Prangin. 

“One of my men says there’s a crowd of twelve 
hundred more just coming in from the faubourg de 
Rome,” said the lieutenant of gendarmes, “and they 
are threatening death to the assassin.” 

“Where is your guest?” said Monsieur Mouilleron 
to Monsieur Hochon. 

He has gone to walk in the country, I believe.” 

“Call Gritte,” said the judge gravely. “I was in 
hopes he had not left the house. You are aware that the 
crime was committed not far from here, at daybreak.” 

While Monsieur Hochon went to find Gritte, the three 
functionaries looked at each other significantly. 

“ I never liked that painter’s face,” said the lieutenant 
to Monsieur Mouilleron. 

“My good woman,” said the judge to Gritte, when 
she appeared, “they say j^ou saw Monsieur Joseph 
Bridau leave the house this morning?” 

“ Yes, monsieur,” she answered, trembling' like a leaf. 

“ At what hour?” 

“ Just as I was getting up : he walked about his room 
all night, and was dressed when I came downstairs.” 

“ Was it daylight ! ” 

“ Barely.” 

“ Did he seem excited?” 

“ Yes, he was all of a twitter.” 

“ Send one of your men for my clerk,” said Lousteau- 
Prangin to the lieutemint, “ and tell him to bring war- 
rants with him — ” 

“ Good God ! don’t be in such a hurry,” cried Mon- 
sieur Hochon. “ The young man’s agitation may have 
been caused by something besides the premeditation of 


The Two Brothers. 


267 


this crime. He meant to return to Paris to-da}^, to 
attend to a matter in which Gilet and Mademoiselle 
Brazier had doubted his honor.” 

“Yes, the affair of the pictures,” said Monsieur 
Mouilleron. “ Those pictures caused a very hot quarrel 
between them yesterda}^, and it is a word and a blow 
with artists, they tell me.” 

“Who is there in Issoudun who had any object in 
killing Gilet?” said Lousteau. “No one, — neither a 
jealous husband nor anybody else ; for the fellow has 
never harmed a soul.” 

“ But what was Monsieur Gdet doing in the streets 
at four in the morning ? ” remarked Monsieur Hochon. 

“ Now, Monsieur Hochon, you must allow us to man- 
age this affair in our own wa}^,” answered Mouilleron ; 
“you don’t know all : Gilet recognized your painter.” 

At this instant a clamor was heard from the other 
end of the town, growing louder and louder, like the 
roll of thunder, as it followed the course of the Grande- 
Narette. 

“ Here he is ! here he is ! — he ’s arrested ! ” 

These words rose distinctly on the ear above the 
hoarse roar of the populace. Poor Joseph, returning 
quietly past the mill at Landrole intending to get home' 
in time for breakfast, was spied by the various groups of 
people, as soon as he reached the place Misere. Happily 
for him, a couple of gendarmes arrived on a run in time 
to snatch him from the inhabitants of the faubourg de 
Rome, who had already pinioned him by the arms and 
were threatening him with death., 

“ Give way ! give way ! ” cried the gendarmes, calling 
to some of their comrades to help them, and putting 
themselves one before and the other behind Bridau. 


268 


The Two Brothers, 


“You see, monsieur,” said the one who held the 
painter, “ it concerns our skin as well as yours at this 
moment. Innocent or guilty, we must protect you 
against the tumult raised b}" the murder of Captain Gilet. 
And the crowd is not satisfied with suspecting you ; they 
declare, hard as iron, that you are the murderer. Mon- 
sieur Gilet is adored by all the people, who — look at 
them ! — want to take justice into their own hands. Ah ! 
did n’t we see them, in 1830, dusting the jackets of the 
tax-gatherers ? whose life is n’t a bed of roses, anyway ! ” 

Joseph Bridau grew as pale as death, and collected all 
his strength to walk onward. 

“ After all,” he said, “ I am innocent. Go on ! ” 

Poor artist ! he was forced to bear his cross. Amid 
the hooting and insults and threats of the mob, he made 
the dreadful transit from the place Misere to the place 
Saint-Jean. The gendarmes were obliged to draw their 
sabres on the furious mob, which pelted them with stones. 
One of the officers was wounded, and Joseph received 
several of the missiles on his legs, and shoulders, 
and hat. 

“ Here we are ! ” said one of the gendarmes, as they 
entered Monsieur Hochon’s hall, “ and not without dif- 
ficulty, lieutenant.” 

“We must now manage to disperse the crowd ; and 
I see but one way, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant to 
the magistrates. “We must take Monsieur Bridau to 
the Palais accompanied by all of you ; I and my gend- 
armes wiU make a circle round you. One can’t answer 
for anything in presence of a furious crowd of six 
thousand — ” 

“You are right,” said Monsieur Hochon, who was 
trembling all the while for his gold. 


The Two Brothers. 


269 


‘ ‘ If that ’s your only way to protect innocence in 
Issoudun,” said Joseph, “I congratulate you. I came 
near being stoned — 

^‘Do you wish your friend’s house to be taken by 
assault and pillaged ? ” asked the lieutenant. “Could 
we beat back with our sabres a crowd of people who 
are pushed from behind by an angry populace that 
knows nothing of the forms of justice ? ” 

“ That will do, gentlemen, let us go ; we can come to 
explanations later,” said Joseph, who had recovered his 
self-possession. 

“Give way, friends!” said the lieutenant to the 
crowd ; “ is arrested, and we are taking him to the 
Palais.” 

“ Respect the law, friends I ” said Monsieur Mouilleron. 

“ Wouldn’t you prefer to see him guillotined?” said 
one of the gendarmes to an angry group. 

“Yes, yes, they shall guillotine him!” shouted one 
madman. 

“ They are going to guillotine him ! ” cried the women. 

By the time they reached the end of the Grande- 
Narette the crowd were shouting: “They are taking 
him to the guillotine ! ” “ They found the knife upon 

him!” “That’s what Parisians are!” “He carries 
crime on his face ! ” 

Though all Joseph’s blood had flown to his head, he 
walked the distance from the place Saint- Jean to the 
Palais with remarkable calmness and self-possession. 
Nevertheless, he was very glad to find himself in the 
private office of Monsieur Lousteau-Prangin. 

“ I need hardly tell you, gentlemen, that I am in- 
nocent,” said Joseph, addressing Monsieur Mouilleron, 
Monsieur Lousteau-Prangin, and the clerk. “ I can 


270 


The Two Brothers, 


only beg you to assist me in proving my innocence. I 
know nothing of this affair.” 

When the judge had stated all the suspicious facts 
which were against him, ending with Max’s declaration, 
Joseph was astounded. 

“ But,” said he, “ it was past five o’clock when I 
left the house. I went up the Grande rue, and at half- 
past five I was standing looking up at the fa9ade of the 
parish church of Saint-Cyr. I talked there with the 
sexton, who came to ring the angelus,, and asked him 
for information about the building, which seems to me 
fantastic and incomplete. Then I passed through the 
vegetable-market, where some women had alread}^ as- 
sembled. From there, crossing the place Misere, I went 
as far as the mill of Landrole by the Pont aux Anes, 
where I watched the ducks for five or six minutes, and 
the miller’s men must have noticed me. I saw the 
women going to wash ; they are probably still there. 
They made a little fun of me, and declared I was not 
handsome ; I told them it was not all gold that glit- 
tered. From there, I followed the long avenue to 
Tivoli, where I talked with the gardener. Pray have 
these facts verified ; and do not even arrest me, for I 
give you my word of honor that I will stay quietly in 
this office till you are convinced of my innocence.” 

These sensible words, said without the least hesita- 
tion, and with the ease of a man who is perfectly sure 
of his facts, made some impression on the magistrates. 

“ Yes, we must find all those persons and summon 
them,” said Monsieur Mouilleron ; “ but it is more than 
the affair of a day. Make up your mind, therefore, in 
your own interests, to be imprisoned in the Palais.” 

“ Provided I can write to my mother, so as to reas- 


The Two Brothers, 


271 


sure her, poor woman — oh ! you can read the letter,” 
he added. 

This request was too just not to be granted, and 
Joseph wrote the following letter : — 

“ Do not be uneasy, dear mother; the mistake of which I 
am a victim can easily he rectified; 1 have already given 
them the means of doing so. To-morrow, or perhaps this 
evening, I shall be at liberty. I kiss you, and beg you to 
say to Monsieur and Madame Hochon how grieved I am at 
this affair ; in which, however, I have had no hand, — it is the 
result of some chance which, as yet, I do not understand.” 

When the note reached Madame Bridau, she was 
suffering from a nervous attack, and the potions which 
Monsieur Goddet was trying to make her swallow were 
powerless to soothe her. The reading of the letter 
acted like balm ; after a few quiverings, Agathe sub- 
sided into the depression which alwa3^s follows such 
attacks. Later, when Monsieur Goddet returned to 
his patient he found her regretting that she had ever 
quitted Paris. 

“ Well,” said Madame Hochon to Monsieur Goddet, 
“ how is Monsieur Gilet? ” 

“ His wound, though serious, is not mortal,” replied 
the doctor. “ With a month’s nursing he will be all 
right. I left him writing to Monsieur Mouilleron to 
request him to set your son at liberty, madame,” he 
added, turning to Agathe. “ Oh ! Max is a fine fellow. 
I told him what a state you were in, and he then re- 
membered a circumstance which goes to prove that the 
assassin was not your son ; the man wore list shoes, 
whereas it is certain that Monsieur Joseph left the 
house in his boots — ” 

/ 


272 


The Two Brothers, 


“Ah! God forgive him the harm he has done 
me — ” 

The fact was, a man had left a note for Max, after 
dark, written in t3^pe-letters, which ran as follows : — 

“ Captain Gilet ought not to let an innocent man suffer. 
He who struck the blow promises not to strike again if 
Monsieur Gilet will have Monsieur Joseph Bridau set at 
liberty, without naming the man who did it.” 

After reading this letter and burning it, Max wrote 
to Monsieur Mouilleron stating the circumstance of the 
list shoes, as reported by Monsieur Goddet, begging 
him to set Joseph at liberty, and to come and see him 
that he might explain the matter more at length. 

By the time this letter was received. Monsieur Lous- 
teau-Prangin had verified, by the testimon}’^ of the bell- 
ringer, the market-women and washerwomen, and the 
miller’s men, the truth of Joseph’s explanation. Max’s 
letter made his innocence only the more certain, and 
Monsieur Mouilleron himself escorted him back to the 
Hochons’. Joseph was greeted with such overflowing 
tenderness by his mother that the poor misunderstood 
son gave thanks to ill-luck — like the husband to the 
thief, in La Fontaine’s fable — for a mishap which 
brought him such proofs of affection. 

“ Oh,” said Monsieur Mouilleron, with a self-satisfied 
air, “ I knew at once by the way you looked at the 
angry crowd that you were innocent ; but whatever I 
may have thought, any one who knows Issoudun must 
also know that the only way to protect 3"ou was to 
make the arrest as we did. Ah ! \rou carried your 
head high.” 

“ I was thinking of something else,” said the artist 


The Two Brothers. 


273 


simply. An officer in the army told me that he was 
once stopped in Dalmatia under similar circumstances 
by an excited populace, in the early morning as he was 
returning from a walk. This recollection came into 
my mind, and I looked at all those heads with the idea 
of painting a revolt of the year 1793. Besides, I kept 
saying to myself : Blackguard that I am ! I have only 
got my deserts for coming here to look after an inheri- 
tance, instead of painting in my studio.” 

“If you will allow me to offer you a piece of ad- 
vice,” said ihQ procureur du roi^ “ you will take a car- 
riage to-night, which the postmaster will lend you, and 
return to Paris by the diligence from Bourges.” 

“ That is my advice also,” said Monsieur Hochon, 
who was burning with a desire for the departure of his 
guests. 

“ My most earnest wish is to get away from Issou- 
dun, though I leave my only friend here,” said Agathe, 
kissing Madame Hochoffs hand. “ When shall I see 
you again?” 

“Ah! my dear, never until we meet above. We 
have suffered enough here below,” she added in a low 
voice, “ for God to take pity upon us.” 

Shortly after, while Monsieur Mouilleron had gone 
across the way to talk with Max, Gritte greatly aston- 
ished Monsieur and Madame Hochon, Agathe, Joseph, 
and Adolphine b}^ announcing the visit of Monsieur 
Rouget. Jean- Jacques came to bid his sister good-by, 
and to offer her his caleche for the drive to Bourges. 

“ Ah I your pictures have been a great evil to us,” 
said Agathe. 

“ Keep them, my sister,” said the old man, who did 
not even now believe in their value. 

18 


274 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Neighbor,” remarked Monsieur Hochon, “ our best 
friends, our surest defenders, are our own relations ; 
above all, when they are such as your sister Agathe, 
and your nephew Joseph.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said old Rouget in his dull way. 

“ We ought all to think of ending our days in a 
Christian manner,” said Madame Hochon. 

“Ah! Jean- Jacques,” said Agathe, “what a day 
this has been ! ” 

“ Will you accept my carriage?” asked Rouget. 

“ No, brother,” answered Madame Bridau, “ I thank 
you, and wish you health and comfort.” 

Rouget let his sister and nephew kiss him, and then 
he went away without manifesting an}" feeling himself. 
Baruch, at a hint from his grandfather, had been to see 
the postmaster. At eleven o’clock that night, the two 
Parisians, ensconced in a wicker cabriolet drawn by one 
horse and ridden by a postilion, quitted Issoudun. Adol- 
phine and Madame Hochon parted from them with tears 
in their eyes ; they alone regretted Joseph and Agathe. 

“They are gone!” said Frangois Hochon, going, 
with the Rabouilleuse, into Max ’s bedroom. 

“Well done ! the trick succeeded,” answered Max, 
who was now tired and feverish. 

“ But what did you say to old Mouilleron?” asked 
Fran9ois. 

“ I told him that I had given my assassin some cause 
to waylay me ; that he was a dangerous man and likely, 
if I followed up the affair, to kill me like a dog before 
he could be captured. Consequently, I begged Mouil- 
leron and Prangin to make the most active search 
ostensibly, but really to let the assassin go in peace, 
unless they wished to see me a dead man.” 


The Two Brothers, 


275 


“I do hope, Max,” said Flore, “ that you will be 
quiet at night for some time to come.” 

“ At any rate, we are delivered from the Parisians ! ” 
cried Max. “ The fellow who stabbed me had no idea 
what a service he was doing us.” 

The next day, the departure of the Parisians was 
celebrated as a victory of the provinces over Paris b}" 
every one in Issoudun, except the more sober and staid 
inhabitants, who shared the opinions of Monsieur and 
Madame Hochon. A few of Max’s friends spoke very 
harshly of the Bridaus. 

“ Do those Parisians fancy we are all idiots,” cried 
one, “ and think they have only got to hold their hats 
and catch legacies ? ” 

“ They came to fleece, but they have got shorn them- 
selves,” said another ; “ the nephew is not to the uncle’s 
taste.” 

“ And, if you please, they actually consulted a lawyer 
in Paris — ” 

“ Ah ! had they really a plan? ” , 

“ Why, of course, — a plan to get possession of old 
Rouget. But the Parisians were not clever enough; 
that lawyer can’t crow over us Berrichons ! ” 

“ How abominable ! ” 

“ That ’s Paris for you ! ” 

“ The Rabouilleuse knew they came to attack her, 
and she defended herself.” 

“ She did gloriously right ! ” 

To the townspeople at large the Bridaus were Paris- 
ians and foreigners ; they preferred Max and Flore. 

We can imagine the satisfaction with which, after 
this campaign, Joseph and Agathe re-entered their little 


276 


The Two Brothers. 


lodging in the rue Mazarin. On the journey, the artist 
recovered his spirits, which had, not unnaturally, been 
put to flight by his arrest and twenty-four hours’ confine- 
ment ; but he could not cheer up his mother. The Court 
of Peers was about to begin the trial of the military con- 
spirators, and that was sufficient to keep Agathe from 
recovering her peace of mind. Philippe’s conduct, in 
spite of the clever defender whom Desroches recom- 
mended to him, roused suspicions that were unfavorable 
to his character. In view of this, Joseph, as soon as he 
had put Desroches in possession of all that was going 
on at Issoudun, started with Mistigris for the chateau of 
the Comte de Serizy, to escape hearing about the trial 
of the conspirators, which lasted for twenty days. 

It is useless to record facts that may be found in con- 
temporaneous histories. Whether it were that he pla3^ed 
a part previousl}^ agreed upon, or that he was really an 
informer, Philippe was condemned to five years’ surveil- 
lance by the police department, and ordered to leave 
Paris the same day for Autun, the town which the direc- 
tor-general of police selected as the place of his exile 
for five years. This punishment resembled the deten- 
tion of prisoners on parole who have a town for a 
prison. Learning that the Comte de Serizy, one of 
the peers appointed by the Chamber on the court- 
martial, was employing Joseph to decorate his chateau 
at Presles, Desroches begged the minister to grant 
him an audience, and found Monsieur de Serizy most 
amiably disposed toward Joseph, with whom he had 
happened to make personal acquaintance. Desroches 
explained the financial condition of the two brothers, 
recalling the services of the father, and the neglect 
shown to them under the Restoration. 


The Two Brothers, 


277 


“ Such injustice, monseigneur,” said the lawyer, “ is 
a lasting cause of irritation and discontent. You knew 
the father ; give the sons a chance, at least, of making 
a fortune — ” 

And he drew a succinct picture of the situation of 
the family affairs at Issoudun, begging the all-powerful 
vice-president of the Council of State to take steps to 
induce the director-general of police to change Philippe’s 
place of residence from Autun to Issoudun. He also 
spoke of Philippe’s extreme poverty, and asked a dole 
of sixty francs a month, which the minister of war 
ought, he said, for mere shame’s sake, to grant to a 
former lieutenant-colonel. 

“ I will obtain all you ask of me, for I think it just,” 
replied the count. 

Three days later, Desroches, furnished with the neces- 
sary authority, fetched Philippe from the prison of the 
Court of Peers, and took him to his own house, rue de 
Bethizy. Once there, the young barrister read the 
miserable vagabond one of those unanswerable lectures 
in which law^^ers rate things at their actual value ; using 
plain terms to qualify the conduct, and to analyze and 
reduce to their simplest meaning the sentiments and 
ideas of clients toward whom they feel enough interest 
to sjDeak plainly. After humbling the Emperor’s staff- 
officer by reproaching him with his reckless dissipations, 
his mother’s misfortunes, and the death of Madame Des- 
coings, he went on to tell him the state of things at 
Issoudun, explaining it according to his lights, and 
probing both the scheme and the character of Maxence 
Gilet and the Eabouilleuse to their depths. Philippe, 
who was gifted with a keen comprehension in such 
directions, listened with much more interest to this 


278 


The Two Brothers. 


part of Desroches’s lecture than to what had gone 
before. 

“ Under these circumstances,” continued the lawyer, 
“ you can repair the injury you have done to your esti- 
mable family, — so far at least as it is reparable ; for 3^ou 
cannot restore life to the poor mother you have all but 
killed. But you alone can — ” 

‘‘ What can I do?” asked Philippe. 

“ I have obtained a change of residence for you from 
Autun to Issoudun. — ” 

Philippe’s sunken face, which had grown almost sin- 
ister in expression and was furrowed with sufferings 
and privation, instantly lighted up with a flash of joy. 

“And, as I was saving, you alone can recover the 
inheritance of old Rouget’s property ; half of which may 
by this time be in the jaws of the wolf named Gilet,” 
replied Desroches. “ You now know all the particulars, 
and it is for 3’ou to act accordingly. I suggest no plan ; 
I have no ideas at all as to that ; besides, everything 
will depend on local circumstances. You have to deal 
with a strong force ; that fellow is ver3" astute. The 
way he attempted to get back the pictures 3^our uncle 
had given to Joseph, the audacity with which he laid a 
crime on 3"our poor brother’s shoulders, all go to prove 
that the adversaiy is capable of ever3*thing. Therefore, 
be prudent ; and try to behave property from polic3% if 
3’ou can’t do so out of decency. Without telling Joseph, 
whose artist’s pride would be up in arms, I have sent 
the pictures to Monsieur Hochon, telling him to give 
them up to no one but 3"ou. By the way, Maxence 
Gilet is a brave man.” 

“ So much the better,” said Philippe ; “ I count on his 
courage for success ; a coward would leave Issoudun.” 


The Two Brothers, 


279 


“ Well, — think of 3^0111 mother who has been so de- 
voted to you, and of your brother, whom you made j^our 
milch cow.” 

“ Ah ! did he tell you that nonsense ? ” cried Philippe. 

“Am I not the friend of the famil3% and don’t I 
know much more about 3rou than they do?” asked 
Desroches. 

“ What do 3’ou know?” said Philippe.' 

“ That you betrayed your comrades.” 

“ I ! ” exclaimed Philippe. “ I ! a staff-officer of the 
Emperor ! Absurd ! Wh3", we fooled the Chamber of 

Peers, the lawyers, the government, and the whole of 
the damned concern. The king’s people were com- 
pletely hood- winked.” 

“That’s all ver3^ well, if it was so, ” answered the 
lawyer. “But, don’t 3’ou see, the Bourbons can’t be 
overthrown ; all Europe is backing them ; and 3^ou 
ought to try and make your peace with the war depart- 
ment, — 3^ou could do that readily enough if 3^ou were 
rich. To get rich, you and 3^our brother, you must 
lay hold of 3"Our uncle. If 3"ou will take the trouble 
to manage an affair which needs great cleverness, 
patience, and caution, you have enough work before 
you to occupy your five years. ” 

“No, no,” cried Philippe, “ I must take the bull by 
the horns at once. This Maxence may alter the in- 
vestment of the property and put it in that woman’s 
name ; and then all would be lost.” 

“ Monsieur Hochon is a good adviser, and sees clearly ; 
consult him. You have your orders from the police; 
I have taken 3"our place in the Orleans diligence for 
half-past seven o’clock this evening. I suppose your 
trunk is ready ; so, now come and dine. ” 


280 


The Two Brothers. 


“ I own nothing but wh^t I have got on my back, ” 
said Philippe, opening his horrible blue overcoat; “but 
I only need three things, which you must tell Girou- 
deau, the uncle of Finot, to send me, — my sabre, my 
sword, and my pistols. ” 

“You need more than that,” said the law^^er, shud- 
dering as he looked at his client. “ You will receive a 
quarterl}^ stipend which will clothe you decently. ” 

“Bless me! are you here, Godeschal?” cried Phil- 
ippe, recognizing in Desroches’s head-clerk, as they 
passed out, the brother of Mariette. 

“ Yes, I have been with Monsieur Desroches for 
the last two months. ” 

“And he will stay with me, I hope, till he gets a 
business of his own, ” said Desroches. 

“How is Mariette?” asked Philippe, moved at his 
recollections. 

“ She is getting ready for the opening of the new 
theatre. ” 

“It would cost her little trouble to get my sentence 
remitted, ” said Philippe. “ However, as she chooses ! ” 

After a meagre dinner, given by Desroches who 
boarded his head-clerk, the two lawyers put the polit- 
ical convict in the diligence, and wished him good luck. 


The Two Brothers, 


281 


XIV. 

On the second of December, All-Souls' da}^, Philippe 
Bridau appeared before the commissary of pdlice at 
Issoudun, to have the date of his arrival recorded on 
his papers ; and by that functionary’s advice he went 
to lodge in the rue I’Avenier. The news of the arrival 
of an officer, banished on account of the late military 
conspiracy, spread rapidly through the town, and 
caused all the more excitement when it was known that 
this officer was a brother of the painter who had been 
falsely accused. Maxence Gilet, b}’^ that time entirely 
recovered from his wound, had completed the difficult 
operation of turning all Fere Rouget’s mortgages into 
money, and putting the proceeds in one sum, on the 
grand-livre. The loan of one hundred and forty thou- 
sand francs obtained by the old man on his landed 
property had caused a great sensation, — for everything 
is known in the provinces. Monsieur Hochon, in the 
Bridau interest, was much put about b}’^ this disaster, 
and questioned old Monsieur Heron, the notary at 
Bourges, as to the object of it. 

“ The heirs of old Rouget, if old Rouget changes his 
mind, ought to make me a votive offering,” cried Mon- 
sieur Heron. “If it had not been for me, the old fel- 
low would have allowed the fifty thousand francs’ income 
to stand in the name of Maxence Gilet. I told Made- 
moiselle Brazier that she ought to look to the will only, 
and not run the risk of a suit for spoliation, seeing 


282 


The Two Brothers. 


what numerous proofs these transfers in every direction 
would give against them. To gain time, I advised 
Maxence and his mistress to keep quiet, and let this 
sudden change in the usual business habits of the old 
man be forgotten.” 

“Protect the Bridaus, for they have nothing,” said 
Monsieur Hochon, who in addition to all other reasons, 
could not forgive Gilet the terrors he had endured when 
fearing the pillage of his house. 

Maxence Gilet and Flore Brazier, now secure against 
all attack, were very merry over the arrival of another 
of old Kouget’s nephews. They knew they were able, 
at the first signal of danger, to make the old man sign 
a power of attorney under which the money in the 
Funds could be transferred either to Max or Flore. 
If the will leaving Flore the principal, should be re- 
voked, an income of fifty thousand francs was a very 
tolerable crumb of comfort, — more particularly after 
squeezing from the real estate that mortgage of a hun- 
dred and forty thousand. 

The day after his arrival, Philippe called upon his 
uncle about ten o’clock in the morning, anxious to pre- 
sent himself in his dilapidated clothing. When the 
convalescent of the Hopital du Midi, the prisoner of the 
Luxembourg, entered the room, Flore Brazier felt a 
shiver pass over her at the repulsive sight. Gilet him- 
self was conscious of that peculiar disturbance both of 
mind and body, by which Nature sometimes warns us 
of a latent enmity, or a coming danger. If there was 
something, indescribably sinister in Philippe’s counte- 
nance, due to his recent misfortunes, the effect was 
heightened by his clothes. Ilis forlorn blue great-coat 
was buttoned in military fashion to the throat, for pain- 


The Two Brothers, 


283 


ful reasons ; and yet it showed much that it pretended 
to conceal. The bottom edges of the trousers, ragged 
like those of an almshouse beggar, were the sign of ab- 
ject poverty. The boots left wet splashes on the floor, 
as the mud oozed from fissures in the soles. The gray 
hat, which the colonel held in his hand, was horribly 
greasy round the rim. The malacca cane, from which 
the polish had long disappeared, must have stood in all 
the corners of all the cafes in Paris, and poked its worn- 
out end into many a corruption. Above the velvet col- 
lar, rubbed and worn till the frame showed through it, 
rose a head like that which Frederick Lemaitre makes 
up for the last act in “The Life of a Gambler,” — 
where the exhaustion of a man still in the prime of life 
is betrayed by the metallic, brassy skin, discolored as 
if with verdigris. Such tints are seen on the faces of 
debauched gamblers who spend their nights in play : 
the ej^es are sunken in a dusky circle, the lids are red- 
dened rather than red, the brow is menacing from the 
wreck and ruin it reveals. Philippe’s cheeks, which 
were sunken and wrinkled, showed signs of the illness 
from which he had scarcely recovered. His head was 
bald, except for a fringe of hair at the back which 
ended at the ears. The pure blue of his brilliant e3^es 
had acquired the cold tones of polished steel. 

“ Good-morning, uncle,” he said, in a hoarse voice. 

“ I am 3"Our nephew, Philippe Bridau, — a specimen of 
how the Bourbons treat a lieutenant- colonel, an old 
soldier of the old arm3r, one who carried the Emperor’s 
orders at the battle of Montereau. If m3" coat were to ' 
open, I should be put to shame in presence of Made- 
moiselle. Well, it is the rule of the game ! We hoped 
to begin it again ; we tried it, and we have failed ! I 


284 


The Two Brothers. 


am to reside in your city by order of the police, with 
a full pa}' of sixty francs a month. So the inhabitants 
need n’t fear that I shall raise the price of provisions ! 
I see you are in good and lovely company.” 

“ Ah ! you are my nephew,” said Jean- Jacques. 

“Invite monsieur le colonel to breakfast with us,” 
said Flore. 

“No, I thank you, madame,” answered Philippe, 
“I have breakfasted. Besides, I would cut off my 
h^nd sooner than ask a bit of bread or a farthing from 
my uncle, after the treatment my mother and brother 
received in this town. It did not seem proper, how- 
ever, that I should settle here, in Issoudun, without 
paying my respects to him from time to time. You can 
do what you like,” he added, offering the old man his 
hand, into which Rouget put his own, which Philippe 
shook, — “ whatever you like. I shall have nothing to 
say against it; provided the honor of the Bridaus is 
untouched.” 

Gilet could look at the lieutenant-colonel as much as 
he pleased, for Philippe pointedly avoided casting his 
eyes in his direction. Max, though the blood boiled in 
his veins, was too well aware of the importance of be- 
having with political prudence — which occasionally 
resembles cowardice — to take fire like a young man ; 
he remained, therefore, perfectly calm and cold. 

“It wouldn’t be right, monsieur,” said Flore, “to 
live on sixty francs a month under the nose of an uncle 
who has forty thousand francs a year, and who has al- 
ready behaved so kindly to Captain Gilet, his natural 
relation, here present — ” 

“Yes, Philippe,” cried the old man, “you must see 
that ! ” 


The Two Brothers. 


285 


On Flore’s presentation, Philippe made a half-timid 
bow to Max. 

“ Uncle, I have some pictures to return to you ; they 
are now at Monsieur Hochon’s. Will you be kind 
enough to come over some day and identify them.” 

Saying these last words in a curt tone, lieutenant- 
colonel Philippe Bridau departed. The tone of his visit 
made, if possible, a deeper impression on Flore’s mind, 
and also on that of Max, than the shock they had felt 
at the first sight of that horrible campaigner. As soon 
as Philippe had slammed the door, with the violence of 
a disinherited heir. Max and Flore hid behind the win- 
dow-curtains to watch him as he crossed the road, to 
the Hochons’. 

“ What a vagabond ! ” exclaimed Flore, questioning 
Max with a glance of her eye. 

‘‘ Yes ; unfortunately there were men like him in the 
armies of the Emperor ; I sent seven to the shades at 
Cabrera,” answered Gilet. 

“ I do hope. Max, that you won’t pick a quarrel with 
that fellow,” said Mademoiselle Brazier. 

“ He smelt so of tobacco,” complained the old man. 

“ He was smelling after your money-bags,” said Flore, 
in a peremptory tone. “My advice is th^t you don’t 
let him into the house again.” 

“I’d prefer not to,” replied Rouget. 

“ Monsieur,” said Gritte, entering the room where 
the Hochon family were all assembled after breakfast, 
“ here is the Monsieur Bridau 3'Ou were talking about.” 

Philippe made his entrance politely, in the midst of 
a dead silence caused by general curiositj". Madame 
Hochon shuddered from head to foot as she beheld the 
author of all Agathe’s woes and the murderer of good 


286 


The Two Brothers. 


old Madame Descoings. Adolphine also felt a shock 
of fear. Baruch and Francois looked at each other in 
surprise. Old Hochon kept his self-possession, and 
offered a seat to the son of Madame Bridau. 

“I have come, monsieur,” said Philippe, “to intro- 
^ duce my self to you ; I am forced to consider how I can 
manage to live here, for five years, on sixty francs a 
month.” 

“ It can be done,” said the octogenarian. 

Philippe talked about things in general, with per- 
fect propriet}'. He mentioned the journalist Lousteau, 
nephew of the old lady, as a rara avis, and won her 
good graces from the moment she heard him say that 
the name of Lousteau would become celebrated. He 
did not hesitate to admit his faults of conduct. To a 
friendly admonition which Madame Hochon addressed 
to him in a low voice, he replied that he had reflected 
deeply while in prison, and could promise that in future 
he would live another life. 

On a hint from Philippe, Monsieur Hochon went out 
with him when he took his leave. When the miser and 
the soldier reached the boulevard Baron, a place where 
no one could overhear them, the colonel turned to the 
old man, — 

“ Monsieur,” he said, “ if you will be guided by me, 
we will never speak together of matters and things, or 
people either, unless we are walking in the open countr}’, 
or in places where we cannot be overheard. Maitre 
Desroches has fully explained to me the influence of the 
gossip of a little town. Therefore I don’t wish you to 
be suspected of advising me; though Desroches has 
told me to ask for your advice, and I beg you not to be 
chary of giving it. We have a powerful enem}^ in our 


The Two Brothers, 


287 


front, and it won’t do to neglect any precaution which 
may help to defeat him. In the first place, therefore, 
excuse me if I do not call upon 3"ou again. A little 
coldness between us will clear you of all suspicion of 
infiuencing m}^ conduct. When I want to consult you, 
I will pass along the square at half-past nine, just as 
you are coming out after breakfast. If you see me 
carry my cane on my shoulder, that will mean that we 
must meet — accidentally — in some open space which 
3^ou will point out to me.” 

“ I see you are a prudent man, bent on success,” said 
old Hochon. 

“ I shall succeed, monsieur. First of all, give me 
the names of the oflScers of the old army now living in 
Issoudun, who have not taken sides with Maxence 
Gilet ; I wish to make their acquaintance.” 

“Well, there’s a captain of the artillery of the 
Guard, Monsieur Mignonnet, a man about forty 3"ears 
of age, who was brought up at the Ecole Poly technique, 
and lives in a quiet way. He is a very honorable man, 
and openly disapproves of Max, whose conduct he 
considers unworthy of a true soldier.” 

“ Good ! ” remarked the lieutenant-colonel. 

“There are not many soldiers here of that stripe,” 
resumed Monsieur Hochon ; “ the only other that I 
know is an old cavalry captain.” 

“ That is my arm,” said Philippe. “ Was he in the 
Guard?” 

“ Yes,” replied Monsieur Hochon. “ Carpentier was, 
in 1810, sergeant-major in the dragoons ; then he rose 
to be sub-lieutenant in the line, and subsequently cap- 
tain of cavalry.” 

“ Giroudeau may know him,” thought Philippe. 


288 


The Two Brothers. 


“This Monsieur Carpentier took the place in the 
mayor’s office which Gilet threw up ; he is a friend of 
Monsieur Mignonnet.” 

“ How can I earn my living here?” 

“ They are going, I think, to establish a mutual in- 
surance agency in Issoudun, for the department of the 
Cher ; you might get a place in it ; but the pay won’t 
be more than fifty francs a month at the outside.” 

“ That will be enough.” 

At the end of a week Philippe had a new suit of 
clothes, — coat, waistcoat, and trousers, — of good blue 
Elbeuf cloth, bought on credit, to be paid for at so 
much a month ; also new boots, buckskin gloves, and a 
hat. Giroudeau sent him some linen, with his weapons 
' and a letter for Carpentier, who had formerly served 
under Giroudeau. The letter secured him Carpentier’s 
good-will, and the latter presented him to his friend 
Mignonnet as a man of great merit and the highest 
character. Philippe won the admiration of these worthy 
officers by confiding to them a few facts about the late 
conspiracy, which was, as ever^^body knows, the last 
attempt of the old army against the Bourbons ; for the 
afiair of the sergeants at La Rochelle belongs to another 
order of ideas. 

Warned by the fate of the conspiracy of the 19th of 
Angust, 1820, and of those of Berton and Caron, the 
soldiers of the old army resigned themselves, after their 
failure in 1822, to wait events. This last conspiracy, 
which grew out of that of the 19th of August, was really a 
continuation of the latter, carried on by a better element. 
Like its predecessor, it was absolutely unknown to the 
royal government. Betrayed once more, the conspira- 
tors had the wit to reduce their vast enterprise to the 


The Two Brothers. 


289 


puny proportions of a barrack plot. This conspiracy, 
in which several regiments of cavalry, infantry, and 
artillery were concerned, had its centre in the north of 
France. The strong places along the frontier were to 
be captured at a blow. If success had followed, the 
treaties of 1815 would have been broken by a federa- 
tion with Belgium, which, by a military compact made 
among the soldiers, was to withdraw from the Holy 
Alliance. Two thrones would have been plunged in 
a moment into the vortex of this sudden cyclone. In- 
stead of this formidable scheme — concerted by strong 
minds and supported by personages of high rank — 
being carried out, one small part of it, and that only, 
was discovered and brought before the Court of Peers. 
Philippe Bridau consented to screen the leaders, who 
retired the moment the plot was discovered (either by 
treachery or accident), and from their seats in both 
Chambers lent their co-operation to the inquiry only 
to work for the ultimate success of their purpose at the 
heart of the government. 

To recount this scheme, which, since 1830, the Liber- 
als have openly confessed in all its ramifications, would 
trench upon the domain of history and involve too long 
a digression. This glimpse of it is enough to show the 
double part which Philippe Bridau undertook to play. 
The former staff-officer of the Emperor was to lead a 
movement in Paris solely for the purpose of masking 
the real conspiracy and occupying the mind of the gov- 
ernment at its centre, while the great struggle should 
burst forth at the north. When the latter miscarried 
before discovery, Philippe was ordered to break all 
links connecting the two plots, and to allow the secrets 
of the secondary plot only to become known. For this 
19 


290 


The Two Brothers, 


purpose, his abject misery, to which his state of health 
and his clothing bore witness, was amply sufficient to 
undervalue the character of the conspiracy’ and reduce 
its proportions in the eyes of the authorities. The role 
was well suited to the precarious position of the un- 
principled gambler. Feeling himself astride of both 
parties, the crafty Philippe played the saint to the 
royal government, all the while retaining the good 
opinion of the men in high places who were of the 
other party, — determined to cast in his lot at a later 
day with whichever side he might then find most to his 
advantage. 

These revelations as to the vast bearings of the real 
conspiracy made Philippe a man of great distinction 
in the eyes of Carpentier and Mignonnet, to whom his 
self-devotion seemed a state-craft worthy of the palmy 
days of the Convention. In a short time the tricky 
Bonapartist was seen to be on friendly terms with the 
two officers, and the consideration they enjoyed in the 
town was, of course, shared by him. He soon ob- 
tained, through their recommendation, the situation in 
the insurance office that old Hochon had suggested, 
which required only three hours of his day. Mignonnet 
and Carpentier put him up at their club, where his good 
manners and bearing, in keeping with the high opinion 
which the two officers expressed about him, won him a 
respect often given to external appearances that are 
only deceitful. 

Philippe, whose conduct was carefully considered 
and planned, had indeed made many reflections while 
in prison as to the inconveniences of leading a de- 
bauched life. He did not need Desroches’s lecture 
to understand the necessity of conciliating the people 


The Two Brothers. 


291 


at Issondun by decent, sober, and respectable conduct. 
Delighted to attract Max’s ridicule by behaving with 
the propriety of a Mignonnet, he went further, and 
endeavored to lull Gilet’s suspicions by deceiving him 
as to his real character. He was bent on being taken 
for a fool by appearing generous and disinterested ; 
all the while drawing a net around his adversary, and 
keeping his eye on his uncle’s property. His mother 
and brother, on the contrary, who were really dis- 
interested, generous and lofty, had been accused of 
greed because the}’’ had acted with straightforward 
simplicity. Philippe’s covetousness was fully roused 
by Monsieur Hochon, who gave him all the details 
of his uncle’s property. In the first secret conversa- 
tion which he held with the octogenarian, they agreed 
that Philippe must not awaken Max’s suspicions ; for 
the game would be lost if Flore and Max were to carry 
off their victim, though no farther than Bourges. 

Once a week the colonel dined with Mignonnet; 
another day with Carpentier ; and every Thursda}^ with 
Monsieur Hochon. At the end of three weeks he 
received other invitations for the remaining days, so 
that he had little more than his breakfast to provide. 
He never spoke of his uncle, nor of the Rabouilleuse, 
nor of Gilet, unless it were in connection with his 
mother and his brother’s stay in Issoudun. The three 
oflScers — the only soldiers in the town who were dec- 
orated, and among whom Philippe had the advantage 
of the rosette, which in the eyes of all provincials gave 
him a marked superiority — took a habit of walking 
together ever}" day before dinner, keeping, as the say- 
ing is, to themselves. This reserve and tranquillity of 
demeanor had an excellent effect in Issoudun. All 


292 


The Two Brothers, 


Max’s adherents thought Philippe a sabreur^ — an ex- 
pression applied soldiers to the commonest sort of 
courage in their superior officers, while denying that 
they possess the requisite qualities of a commander. 

“ He is a very honorable man,” said Goddet the 
surgeon, to Max. 

“Bah!” replied Gilet, “his behavior before the 
Court of Peers proves him to have been either a 
dupe or a spy ; he is, as you say, ninny enough to 
have been duped by the great players.” 

After obtaining his situation, Philippe, who was well 
informed as to the gossip of the town, wished to con- 
ceal certain circumstances of his present life as much 
as possible from the knowledge of the inhabitants ; he 
therefore went to live in a house at the farther end of 
the faubourg Saint-Paterne, to which was attached a 
large garden. Here he was able in the utmost secrecy 
to fence with Carpentier, who had been a fencing- 
master in the infantry before entering the cavalry. 
Philippe soon recovered his early dexterity, and learned 
other and new secrets from Carpentier, which con- 
vinced him that he need not fear the prowess of any 
adversary. This done, he began openly to practise 
with pistols, with Mignonnet and Carpentier, declaring 
it was for amusement, but really intending to make 
Max believe that, in case of a duel, he should rely upon 
that weapon. Whenever Philippe met Gilet he waited 
for him to bow first, and answered the salutation by 
touching the brim of his hat cavalierly, as an officer 
acknowledges the salute of a private. Maxence Gilet 
gave no sign of impatience or displeasure ; he never 
uttered a single word about Bridau at the Cognettes’ 
where he still gave suppers ; although, since Fario’s 


The Two Brothers. 


293 


attack, the pranks of the Order of Idleness were tem- 
porarily suspended. 

After a while, however, the contempt shown by Lieu- 
tenant-colonel Bridau for the former cavalry captain, 
Gilet, was a settled fact, which certain Knights of Idle- 
ness, who were less bound to Max than Fran9ois, Baruch, 
and three or four others, discussed among themselves. 
They were much surprised to see the violent and fiery 
Max behave with such discretion. No one in Issondun, 
not even Potel or Renard, dared broach so delicate a 
subject with him. Potel, somewhat disturbed by this 
open misunderstanding between two heroes of the Im- 
perial Guard, suggested that Max might be la3dng a net 
for the colonel ; he asserted that some new scheme 
might, be looked for from a man who had got rid of the 
mother and one brother hy making use of Fario’s attack 
upon him, the particulars of which were now no longer 
a m^^stery. Monsieur Hochon had taken care to reveal 
the truth of Max’s atrocious accusation to the best peo- 
ple of the town. Thus it happened that in talking over 
the situation of the lieutenant-colonel in relation to 
Max, and in trying to guess what might spring from 
their antagonism, the whole town regarded the two 
men, from the start, as adversaries. 

Philippe, who carefully investigated all the circum- 
stances of his brother’s arrest and the antecedents of 
Gilet and the Rabouilleuse, was finally brought into 
rather close relations with Fario, who lived near him. 
After studying the Spaniard, Philippe thought he might 
trust a man of that quality. The two found their hatred 
so firm a bond of union, that Fario put himself at 
Philippe’s disposal, and related all that he knew about 
the Knights of Idleness. Philippe promised, in case he 


294 


The Two Brothers. 


succeeded in obtaining over his uncle the power now 
exercised by Gilet, to indemnify Fario for his losses ; 
this bait made the Spaniard his henchman. Maxence 
was now face to face with a dangerous foe ; he had, as 
they say in those parts, some one to handle. Roused 
b}" much gossip and various rumors, the town of Issou- 
dun expected a mortal combat between the two men, 
who, we must remark, mutually despised each other. 

One morning, towards the end of November, Philippe 
met Monsieur Hochon about twelve o’clock, in the long 
avenue of Frapesle, and said to him : — 

“ I have discovered that your grandsons Baruch and 
Francois are the intimate friends of Maxence Gilet. 
The rascals are mixed up in all the pranks that are 
played about this town at night. It was through them 
that Maxence knew what was said in your house when 
my mother and brother were staying there.” 

“ How did you get proof of such a monstrous thing? ” 
“ I overheard their conversation one night as they 
were leaving a drinking-shop. Your grandsons both 
owe Max more than three thousand francs. The scoun- 
drel told the lads to try and find out our intentions ; he 
reminded them that 3"Ou had once thought of getting 
round my uncle b}" priestcraft, and declared that nobody 
but 3^ou could guide me ; for he thinks, fortunately, 
that I am nothing more than a sahreur.'*^ 

“ My grandsons ! is it possible? ” 

“ Watch them,” said Philippe. “You will see them 
coming home along the place Saint- Jean, at two or three 
o’clock in the morning, as tipsy as champagne-corks, 
and in company with Gilet — ” 

“ That’s why the scamps keep so sober at home! ” 
cried Monsieur Hochon. 


The Two Brothers. 


295 


“ Fario has told me all about their nocturnal proceed- 
ings,” resumed Philippe ; without him, I should never 
have suspected them. My uncle is held down under an 
absolute thraldom, if I may judge by certain things 
which the Spaniard has heard Max say to your boys. 
I suspect Max and the Rabouilleuse of a scheme to make 
sure of the fifty thousand francs’ income from the Funds, 
and then, after pulling that feather from their pigeon’s 
wing, to run awa}", I don’t know where, and get mar- 
ried. It is high time to know what is going on under 
my uncle’s roof, but I don’t see how to set about it.” 

“ I will think of it,” said the old man. 

They separated, for several persons were now 
approaching. 

Never, at any time in his life, did Jean-Jacques 
Rouget suffer as he had done since the first visit of his 
nephew Philippe. Flore was terrified by the presenti- 
ment of some evil that threatened Max. Weary of her 
master, and fearing that he might live to be very old, 
since he was able to bear up under their criminal prac- 
tices, she formed the very simple plan of leaving Issou- 
dun and being married to Maxence in Paris, after 
obtaining from Jean-Jacques the transfer of the income 
in the Funds. The old bachelor, guided, not by any 
justice to his family, nor by personal avarice, but solely 
by his passion, steadily refused to make the transfer, 
on the ground that Flore was to be his sole heir. The 
unhappy creature knew to what extent Flore loved Max, 
and he believed he would be abandoned the moment she 
was made rich enough to marry. When Flore, after 
employing the tenderest cajoleries, was unable to suc- 
ceed, she tried rigor ; she no longer spoke to her mas- 
ter ; Vedie was sent to wait upon him, and found him 


296 


The Two Brothers. 


in the morning with his eyes swollen and red with weep- 
ing. For a week or more, poor Rouget had breakfasted 
alone, and Heaven knows on what food ! 

The day after Philippe’s conversation with Monsieur 
Hochon, he determined to pay a second visit to his 
uncle, whom he found much changed. Flore stayed 
beside the old man, speaking tenderly and looking at 
him with much affection ; she played the comedy so 
well that Philippe guessed some immediate danger, 
merely from tlie solicitude thus displayed in his pres- 
ence. Gilet, whose polic}" it was to avoid all collision 
with Philippe, did not appear. After watching his uncle 
and Flore for a time with a discerning eye, the colonel 
judged that the time had come to strike his grand blow. 

“ Adieu, my dear uncle,” he said, rising as if to 
leave the house. 

“Oh! don’t go yet,” cried the old man, who was 
comforted by Flore’s false tenderness. “ Dine with us, 
Philippe.” 

“ Yes, if you will come and take a walk with me.” 

“Monsieur is very feeble,” interposed Mademoiselle 
Brazier ; “ just now he was unwilling even to go out in 
the carriage,” she added, turning upon the old man the 
fixed look with which keepers quell a maniac. 

Philippe took Flore by the arm, compelling her to 
look at him, and looking at her in return as fixedly as 
she had just looked at her victim. 

“ Tell me, mademoiselle,” he said, “is it a fact that 
my uncle is not free to take a walk with me ? ” 

“Why, 3^es he is, monsieur,” replied Flore, who was 
unable to make any other answer. 

“Very well. Come, uncle. Mademoiselle, give him 
his hat and cane.” 


Tlie Two Brothers. 


29 T 


“But — he never goes out without me. Do you, 
monsieur ? ” 

“ Yes, Philippe, yes ; I always want her — ” 

“ It would be better to take the carriage,” said 
Flore. 

“Yes, let us take the carriage,” cried the old man, 
in his anxiety to make his two t^n’ants agree. 

“ Uncle, 3"Ou will come with me, alone, and on foot, 
or I shall never return here ; I shall know that the town 
of Issoudun tells the truth, when it declares 3^011 are 
under the dominion of Mademoiselle Flore Brazier. 
That my uncle should love you, is all veiy well,” he 
resumed, holding Flore with a fixed e3'e ; “that 3’ou 
should not love my uncle is also on the cards ; but 
when it comes to 3’our making him unhapp3’ — halt ! 
If people want to get hold of an inheritance, the3' must 
earn it. Are 3^011 coming, uncle ? ” 

Philippe saw the eyes of the poor imbecile roving 
from himself to Flore, in painful hesitation. 

“Ha! that's how it is, is it?” resumed the lieu- 
tenant-colonel. “ Well, adieu, uncle. Mademoiselle, 
I kiss 3'our hands.” 

He turned quickly when he reached the door, and 
caught Flore in the act of making a menacing gesture 
at his uncle. 

“Uncle,” he said, “if 3^ou wish to go with me, I 
will meet 3^011 at 3"Our door in ten minutes : I am now 
going to see Monsieur Ilochon. If you and I do not 
take that walk, I shall take upon myself to make some 
others walk.” 

So saying, he went awa3", and crossed the place 
Saint-Jean to the Hochons. 

Every one can imagine the scenes which the revela- 


298 


The Two Brothers. 


tions made by Philippe to Monsieur Hochon had brougnt 
about in that family. At nine o’clock, old Monsieur 
Heron, the notary, presented himself with a bundle of 
papers, and found a fire in the hall which the old miser, 
contrary to all his habits, had ordered to be lighted. 
Madame Hochon, already dressed at this unusual hour, 
was sitting in her armchair at the corner of the fire- 
place. The two grandsons, warned the night before 
by Adolphine that a storm was gathering about their 
heads, had been ordered to stay in the house. Sum- 
moned now by Gritte, the}" were alarmed at the formal 
preparations of their grandparents, whose coldness and 
anger they had been made to feel in the air for the last 
twenty-four hours. 

“Don’t rise for them,” said their grandfather to 
Monsieur Heron ; “ you see before you two miscreants, 
unworth}" of pardon.” 

“ Oh, grandpapa ! ” said Francois. 

“ Be silent ! ” said the old man sternly. “ I know of 
your nocturnal life and your intimacy with Monsieur 
Maxence Gilet. But you will meet him no more at 
Mere Cognette’s at one in the morning ; for you will 
not leave this house, either of you, until you go to your 
respective destinations. Ha ! it was you who ruined 
Fario, was it? you, who have narrowly escaped the 
police-courts — Hold your tongue ! ” he said, seeing that 
Baruch was about to speak. “ You both owe money to 
Monsieur Maxence Gilet ; who, for six years, has paid for 
your debauchery. Listen, both of you, to my guardian- 
ship accounts ; after that, I shall have more to say. 
You will see, after these papers are read, whether you 
can still trific with me, — still trifle with family laws by 
betraying the secrets of this house, and reporting to a 


The Two Brothers, 


299 


Monsieur Maxence Gilet what is said and what is done 
here. For three thousand francs, you became spies ; for 
ten thousand, you would, no doubt, become assassins. 
You did almost kill Madame Bridau ; for Monsieur Gilet 
knew very well it was Fario who stabbed him when he 
threw the crime upon my guest. Monsieur Joseph 
Bridau. If that jail-bird did so wicked an act, it was 
because you told him what Madame Bridau meant to do. 
You, my grandsons, the spies of such a man ! You, 
house-breakers and marauders ! Don’t 3^011 know that 
3*our worthy leader killed a poor 3’oung woman, in 1806 ? 
I will not have assassins and thieves in my famil3". 
Pack 3’our things ; 3’ou shall go hang elsewhere ! ” 

The two young men turned white and stiff as plaster 
casts. 

“ Read on. Monsieur Heron,” said Hochon. 

The old notaiy read the guardianship accounts ; from 
which it appeared that the net fortune of the two 
Borniche children amounted to seventy thousand francs, 
a sum derived from the dowiy of their mother: but 
Monsieur Hochon had lent his daughter various large 
sums, and was now, as creditor, the owner of a part of 
the propert}^ of his Borniche grandchildren. The por- 
tion coming to Baruch amounted to only twenty thou- 
sand francs. 

“Now 3'ou are rich,” said the old man, “take 3"our 
money, and go. I remain master of my own propert3' 
and that of Madame Hochon, who in this matter shares 
all my intentions, and I shall give it to whom I choose ; 
namely, our dear Adolphine. Yes, we can marry her 
if we please to the son of a peer of France, for she will 
be an heiress.” 

“ A noble fortune ! ” said Monsieur Heron. 


mo 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Monsieur Maxence Gilet will make up this loss to 
you,” said Madame Hoehon. 

‘ ‘ Let my hard-saved money go to a seapegrace like 
you? no, indeed ! ” cried Monsieur Hoehon. 

“ Forgive me ! ” stammered Baruch. 

“ ‘ Forgive, and I won’t do it again,’” sneered the old 
man, imitating a child’s voice. “ If I were to forgive 
you, and let 3ml out of this house, 3’ou would go and 
tell Monsieur Maxence what has happened, and warn 
him to be on his guard. No, no, m}'- little men. I 
shall keep my e3"e on 3’ou, and I have means of know- 
ing what you do. As 3-011 behave, so shall I behave to 
you. It will be by a long course of good conduct, not 
that of a day or a month, but of 3-ears, that I shall 
judge 3-0U. I am strong on my legs, my e3"es are good, 
my health is sound ; I hope to live long enough to see 
what road 3-0U take. Your first move will be to Paris, 
where 3-ou will study banking under Messieurs Mon- 
genod and Sons. Ill-luck to 3-ou if 3-ou don’t walk 
straight ; 3-ou will be watched. Your propert3" 
the hand of Messieurs Mongenod; here is a cheque 
for the amount. Now then, release me as guardian, 
and sign the accounts, and also this receipt,” he added, 
taking the papers from Monsieur Heron and handing 
them to Baruch. 

“ As for 3-0U, Francois Hoehon, 3-011 owe me money 
instead of having an3^ to receive,” said the old man, 
looking at his other grandson. “ Monsieur Hdron, read 
his account ; it is all clear — perfectl3- clear.” 

The reading was done in the midst of perfect stillness. 

“You will have six hundred francs a year, and with 
that you will go to Poitiers and study law,” said the 
grandfather, when the notary had finished. “I had a 


The Two Brothers. 


301 


fine life in prospect for you ; but now, you must earn 
your living as a lawyer. Ah ! my young rascals, you 
have deceived me for six 3^ears ; 3'ou now know it has 
taken me but one hour to get even with 3’ou : I have 
seven-leagued boots.” 

Just as old Monsieur Heron was preparing to leave 
with the signed papers, Gritte announced Colonel 
Bridau. Madame Hochon left the room, taking her 
grandsons with her, that she might, as old Hochon said, 
confess them privately and find out what effect tliis 
scene had produced upon them. 

Philippe and the old man stood in the embrasure of 
a window and spoke in low tones. 

“1 have been refiecting on the state of 3’our aftairs 
over there,” said Monsieur Hochon pointing to the 
Rouget house. “ I have just had a talk with Monsieur 
Heron. The security for the fifty thousand francs a 
year from the property in the Funds cannot be sold 
unless by the owner himself or some one with a power 
of attorne3" from him. Now, since 3’our arrival here, 
your uncle has not signed any such power before any 
notary ; and, as he has not left Issoudun, he can’t have 
signed one elsewhere. If he attempts to give a power 
of attorne3" here, we shall know it instantly ; if he goes 
away to give one, we shall also know it, for it will have 
to be registered, and that excellent Heron has means of 
finding it out. Therefore, if old Rouget leaves Issou- 
dun, have him followed, learn where he goes, and we 
will find a wa3" to discover what he does.” 

“The power of attorney has not been given,” said 
Philippe ; “ they are trying to get it ; but — they — will 
— not — sue — ceed — ” added the vagabond, whose 
eye just then caught sight of his uncle on the steps of 


302 


The Two Brothers. 


the opposite house : he pointed him out to Monsieur 
Hochon and related succinctly the particulars, at once 
so petty and so important, of his visit. 

“ Maxence is afraid of me, but he can’t evade me. 
Mignonnet says that all the officers of the old army who 
are in Issoudun give a yearly banquet on the anniver- 
sary of the Emperor’s coronation ; so Maxence Gilet 
and I are sure to meet in a few da3'S.” 

“If he gets a power of attorney by the morning of 
the first of December,” said Hochon, “he might take 
the mail-post for Paris, and give up the banquet.” 

“ Very good. The first thing is, then, to get posses- 
sion of my uncle ; I ’ve an eye that cows a fool,” said 
Philippe, giving Monsieur Hochon an atrocious glance 
that made the old man tremble. 

“ If they let him walk with you, Maxence must be- 
lieve he has found some means to win the game,” re- 
marked the old miser. 

“ Oh! Fario is on the watch,” said Philippe, “and 
he is not alone. That Spaniard has discovered one of 
my old soldiers in the neighborhood of Vatan, a man I 
once did some service to. Without any one’s suspect- 
ing it, Benjamin Bourdet is under Fario’s orders, who 
has lent him a horse to get about with.” 

“ If you kill that monster who has corrupted 
my grandsons, I shall say you have done a good 
deed.” 

“Thanks to me, the town of Issoudun now knows 
what Monsieur Maxence Gilet has been doing at night 
for the last six years,” replied Philippe ; “ and the 
cackle, as 3’ou call it here, is now started on him. Mor- 
all3' his day is over.” 

The moment Philippe left his uncle’s house Flore 


The Two Brothers. 


803 


went to Max’s room to tell him every particular of the 
nephew’s bold visit. 

“ What ’s to be done?” she asked. 

“Before trying the last means, — which will be to 
fight that big reprobate,” replied Maxence, — “we must 
play double or quits, and try our grand stroke. Let 
the old idiot go with his nephew.” 

“ But that big brute won’t mince matters,” remon- 
strated Flore ; “he ’ll call things b}^ their right names.” 

“ Listen to me,” said Maxence in a harsh voice. “Do 
you think I Ve not kept my ears open, and reflected 
about how we stand? Send to Pere Cognette for a 
horse and a char-a-banc, and say we want them in- 
stantly : they must be here in five minutes. Pack all 
your belongings, take Vedie, and go to Vatan. Settle 
yourself there as if you meant to stay; carry off the 
twenty thousand francs in gold which the old fellow 
has got in his drawer. If I bring him to you at Vatan, 
you are to refuse to come back here unless he signs the 
power of attorney. As soon as we get it I ’ll slip off 
to Paris, while you are returning to Issoudun. When 
Jean- Jacques gets back from his walk and finds you 
gone, he’ll go beside himself, and want to follow you. 
Well ! when he does, I ’ll give him a talking to.” 


304 


The Two Brothers, 


XV. 

While the foregoing plot was progressing, Philippe 
was walking arm in arm with his uncle along the boule- 
vard Baron. 

“ The two great tacticians are coming to close quar- 
ters at last,” thought Monsieur Hochon as he watched 
the colonel marching off with his uncle ; “lam curious 
to see the end of the game, and what becomes of the 
stake of ninety thousand francs a year.” 

“ My dear uncle,” said Philippe, whose phraseology^ 
had a flavor of his affinities in Paris, “ you love this 
girl, and you are devilishly right. She is damnably^ hand- 
some ! Instead of billing and cooing she makes you 
trot like a valet ; well, that ’s all simple enough ; but 
she wants to see you six feet underground, so that she 
may marry Max, whom she adores.” 

“ I know that, Philippe, but I love her all the same.” 

“Well, I have sworn by the soul of my^ mother, who 
is your own sister,” continued Philippe, “ to make your 
Rabouilleuse as supple as my glove, and the same as 
she was before that scoundrel, who is unworthy to have 
served in the Imperial Guard, ever came to quarter him- 
self in your house.” 

“ Ah ! if you could do that ! — ” said the old man. 

“ It is very easy,” answered Philippe, cutting his un- 
cle short. “I’ll kill Max as I would a dog; but — 
on one condition,” added the old campaigner. 


The Two Brothers. 305 

“ What is that? ” said Rouget, looking at his nephew 
in a stupid way. 

“ Don’t sign that power of attorney which they want 
of you before the third of December ; put them off till 
then. Your torturers only want it to enable them to sell 
the fifty thousand a year you have in the Funds, so that 
they may run off to Paris and pay for their wedding 
festivities out of your millions.” 

“ I am afraid so,” replied Rouget. 

“ Well, whatever they may say or do to you, put off 
giving that power of attorney until next week.” 

“ Yes ; but when Flore talks to me she stirs my very 
soul, till I don’t know what I do. I give you my word, 
when she looks at me in a certain way, her blue eyes 
seem like paradise, and I am no longer master of m}^- 
self, — especially when for some days she had been 
harsh to me.” 

“ Well, whether she is sweet or sour, don’t do more 
than promise to sign the paper, and let me know the 
night before you are going to do it. That will answer. 
Maxence shall not be your proxy unless he first kills 
me. If I kill him, you must agree to take me in his 
place, and I’ll undertake to break in that handsome girl 
and keep her at your beck and call. Yes, Flore shall 
love you, and if she does n’t satisfy you — thunder ! 
I ’ll thrash her.” 

“Oh! I never could allow that. A blow struck at 
Flore would break my heart.” 

“ But it is the only way to govern women and horses. 
A man makes himself feared, or loved, or respected. 
Now that is what I wanted to whisper in your ear — 
Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said to Mignonnet and 
Carpentier, who came up at the moment ; “lam taking 
20 


306 


The Two Brothers. 


uncle for a walk, as you see, and trying to improve 
him; for we are in an age when children are obliged 
to educate their grandparents.” 

They all bowed to each other. 

“You behold in my dear uncle the effects of an un- 
happy passion. Those two want to strip him of his 
fortune and leave him in the lurch — you know to whom 
I refer ? He sees the plot ; but he has n’t the courage 
to give up his sugar-plum for a few days so as to 
baffle it.” 

Philippe briefly explained his uncle’s position. 

“ Gentlemen,” he remarked, in conclusion, “ you see 
there are no two ways of saving him : either Colonel 
Bridau must kill Captain Gilet, or Captain Gilet must 
kill Colonel Bridau. We celebrate the Emperor’s coro- 
nation on the day after to-morrow ; I rely upon 3’ou to 
arrange the seats at the banquet so that I shall sit 
opposite to Gilet. You will do me the honor, I hope, 
of being m^" seconds.” 

“We will appoint j^ou to preside, and sit ourselves 
on either side of you. Max, as vice-president, will of 
course sit opposite,” said Mignonnet. 

“ Oh ! the scoundrel will have Potel and Renard with 
him,” said Carpentier. “ In spite of all that Issoudun 
now knows and sa3's of his midnight maraudings, those 
two worthy officers, who have already been his seconds, 
remain faithful to him.” 

“You see how it all maps out, uncle,” said Philippe. 
“Therefore, sign no paper before the third of Decem- 
ber ; the next day you shall be free, happ3^ and beloved 
by Flore, without having to coax for it.” 

“You don’t know him, Philippe,” said the terrified 
old man. “ Maxence has killed nine men in duels.” 


The Two Brothers, 307 

“Yes; but ninety thousand francs a year didn’t 
depend on it,” answered Philippe. 

“ A bad conscience shakes the hand,” remarked 
Mignonnet sententiously. 

“In a few days from now,” resumed Philippe, “you 
and the Rabouilleuse will be living together as sweet as 
honey, — that is, after she gets through mourning. At 
first she ’ll twist like a worm, and yelp, and weep ; 
but never mind, let the water run ! ” 

The two soldiers approved of Philippe’s arguments, 
and tried to hearten up old Rouget, with whom they 
walked about for nearly two hours. At last Philippe 
took his uncle home, saying as they parted : — 

“ Don’t take any steps without me. I know women. 
I have paid for one, who cost me far more than Flore 
can ever cost you. But she taught me how to behave 
to the fair sex for the rest of my days. Women are 
bad children ; they are inferior animals to men ; we 
must make them fear us ; the worst condition in the 
world is to be governed by such brutes.” 

It was about half-past two in the afternoon when 
the old man got home. Kouski opened the door in 
tears, — that is, by Max’s orders, he gave signs of 
weeping. 

“ What is the matter?” asked Jean-Jacques. 

“ Oh ! Monsieur, Madame has gone away, and taken 
Vedie with her ! ” 

“ Gone — a — wa}?^ ! ” said the old man in a strangled 
voice. 

The blow was so violent that Rouget sat down on 
the stairs, unable to stand. A moment after, he rose, 
looked about the hall, into the kitchen, went up to his 
own room, searched all the chambers, and returned to 


308 


The Two Brothers, 


the salon, where he threw himself into a chair, and 
burst into tears. 

“ Where is she ? ” he sobbed. “Oh! where is she? 
where is Max ? ’’ 

“I don’t know,” answered Kouski. “The captain 
went out without telling me.” 

Gilet thought it politic to be seen sauntering about 
the town. By leaving the old man alone with his 
despair, he knew he should make him feel his deser- 
tion the more keenly, and reduce him to docility. To 
keep Philippe from assisting his uncle at this crisis, 
he had given Kouski strict orders not to open the door 
to any one. Flore away, the miserable old man grew 
frantic, and the situation of things approached a crisis. 
During his walk through the town, Maxence Gilet was 
avoided by many persons who a day or two earlier 
would have hastened to shake hands with him. A 
general reaction had set in against him. The deeds 
of the Knights of Idleness were ringing on every tongue. 
The tale of Joseph Bridau’s arrest, now cleared up, 
disgraced Max in the ej^es of all ; and his life and con- 
duct received in one day their just award. Gilet met 
Captain Potel, who was looking for him, and seemed 
almost beside himself. 

“ What’s the matter with you, Potel?” 

“ My dear fellow, the Imperial Guard is being black- 
guarded all over the town ! These civilians are 
crying you down! and it goes to the bottom of my 
heart.” 

“What are they complaining of?” asked Max. 

“Of what you do at night.” 

“As if we couldn’t amuse ourselves a little!” 

“ But that is n’t all,” said Potel. 


The Two Brothers. 


309 


Potel belonged to the same class as the officer who 
replied to the burgomasters : ‘ ‘ Eh ! your town will be 
paid for, if we do burn it ! ” So he was very little 
troubled about the deeds of the Order of Idleness. 

“ What more?” inquired Gilet. 

‘‘The Guard is against the Guard. It is that that 
breaks my heart. Bridau has set all these bourgeois 
on 3’ou. The Guard against the Guard ! no, it ought 
not to be ! You can’t back down, Max ; you must 
meet Bridau. I had a great mind to pick a quarrel 
with the low scoundrel m3^self and send him to the 
shades ; I wish I had, and then the bourgeois would n’t 
have seen the spectacle of the Guard against the Guard. 
In war times, I don’t sa^^ anything against it. Two 
heroes of the Guard ma}^ quarrel, and fight, — but at 
least there are no civilians to look on and sneer. No, 
I sa}" that big villain never served in the Guard. A 
guardsman would never behave as he does to another 
guardsman, under the veiy ej^es of the bourgeois ; 
impossible ! Ah ! it ’s all wrong ; the Guard is dis- 
graced — and here, at Issoudun ! where it was once 
so honored.” 

“ Come, Potel, don’t worry j’ourself,” answered 
Max ; “ even if you do not see me at the banquet — ” 
“What! do you mean that 3"OU won’t be there the 
day after to-morrow?” cried Potel, interrupting his 
friend. “ Do 3^011 wish to be called a coward? and have 
it said 3^011 are running away from Bridau ? No, np I 
The unmounted grenadiers of the Guard can not draw 
back before the dragoons of the Guard. Arrange your 
business in some other way and be there ! ” 

“ One more to send to the shades ! ” said Max. 
“ Well, I think I can manage my business so as to get 


310 


The Two Brothers, 


there — For,” he thought to himself, “that power of 
attorney ought not to be in my name ; as old Heron 
saj^s, it would look too much like theft.” 

This lion, tangled in the meshes Philippe Bridau was 
weaving for him, muttered between his teeth as he went 
along ; he avoided the looks of those he met and re- 
turned home by the boulevard Vilatte, still talking to 
himself. 

“I will have that money before I fight,” he said. 
“ If I die, it shall not go to Philippe. I must put it in 
Flore’s name. She will follow my instructions, and go 
straight to Paris. Once there, she can marry, if she 
chooses, the son of some marshal of France who has 
been sent to the right-about. I ’ll have that power of 
attorney made in Baruch’s name, and he ’ll transfer the 
property by my order.” 

Max, to do him justice, was never more cool and 
calm in appearance than when his blood and his ideas 
were boiling. No man ever united in a higher degree 
the qualities which make a great general. If his career 
had not been cut short by his captivity at Cabrera, the 
Emperor would certainly have found him one of those 
men who are necessary to the success of vast enter- 
I)rises. When he entered the room where the hapless 
victim of all these comic and tragic scenes was still 
weeping. Max asked the meaning of such distress ; 
seemed surprised, pretended that he knew nothing, and 
heard, with well-acted amazement, of Flore’s departure. 
He questioned Kouski, to obtain some light on the 
object of this inexplicable journey. 

“Madame said like this,” Kouski replied, — “ that I 
was to tell monsieur she had taken twenty thousand 
francs in gold from his drawer, thinking that monsieur 


The Two Brothers. 


311 


would n’t refuse her that amount as wages for the last 
twenty-two years.” 

“Wages?” exclaimed Rouget. 

“ Yes,” replied Kouski. “ ‘ Ah ! I shall never come 
back,’ ” she said to Vedie, as she drove away. “ Poor 
Vedie, who is so attached to monsieur, remonstrated 
with madame. ‘ No, no,’ she answered, ‘ he has no 
affection for me ; he lets his nephew treat me like the 
lowest of the low ; ’ and she wept — oh ! bitterly.” 

“Eh! what do I care for Philippe?” cried the old 
man, whom Max was watching. “Where is Flore? 
how can we find out where she is?” 

“ Philippe, whose advice you follow, will help you,” 
said Max coldly. 

“ Philippe?” said the old man, “ what has he to do 
with the poor child? There is no one but you, m}^ good 
Max, who can find Flore. She will follow you — you 
could bring her back to me — ” 

“ I don’t wish to oppose Monsieur Bridau,” observed 
Max. 

“As for that,” cried Rouget, “if that hinders you, 
he told me he meant to kill you.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Gilet, laughing, “we will see 
about it ! ” 

“My friend,” said the old man, “find Flore, and I 
will do all she wants of me.” 

“ Some one must have seen her as she passed through 
the town,” said Maxence to Kouski. “ Serve dinner; 
put everything on the table, and then go and make in- 
quiries from place to place. Let us know, by dessert, 
which road Mademoiselle Brazier has taken.” 

This order quieted for a time the poor creature, who 
was moaning like a child that has lost its nurse. At 


312 


The Two Brothers, 


this moment Rouget, who hated Max, thought his tor- 
mentor an angel. A passion like that of this miserable 
old man for Flore is astonishingl}^ like the emotions of 
childhood. At six o’clock, the Pole, who had merely 
taken a walk, returned to announce that Flore had 
' driven towards Vatan. 

“Madame i§ going back to her own people, that’s 
plain,” said Kouski. 

“Would you like to go to Vatan to-night?” said 
Max. “The road is bad, but Kouski knows how to 
drive, and you ’ll make 3’our peace better to-night than 
to-morrow morning.’’ 

“ Let us go ! ” cried Rouget. 

“Put the horse in quietlj’,” said Max to Kouski*, 
“ manage, if you can, that the town shall not know of 
this nonsense, for Monsieur Rouget’s sake. Saddle my 
horse,” he added in a whisper. “ I will ride on ahead 
of 3'ou.” ' 

Monsieur Hochon had alread3" notified Philippe of 
Flore’s departure ; and the colonel rose from Monsieur 
Mignonnet’s dinner-table to rush to the place Saint- 
Jean ; for he at once guessed the meaning of this 
clever strategy. When Philippe presented himself 
at his uncle’s house, Kouski answered through a 
window that Monsieur Rouget was unable to see 
an3' one. 

“ Fario,” said Philippe to the Spaniard, who was 
stationed in the Grande-Narette, “ go and tell Benja- 
min to mount his horse ; it is all-important that I shall 
know what Gilet does with my uncle.” 

“They are now putting the horse into the caleche,” 
said Fario, who had been watching the Rouget stable. 

“ If the3'’ go towards Vatan,” answered Philippe, “ get 


TJie Two Brothers, 


313 


me another horse, and come j’ourself with Benjamin to 
Monsieur Mignonnet’s. 

“What do 3'oii mean to do?” asked Monsieur 
Hochon, who had come out of his own house when he 
saw Philippe and Fario standing together. 

“ The genius of a general, m^^ dear Monsieur Hochon,” 
said Philippe, “ consists not onl}’ in carefull}^ observ- 
ing the enem^^’s movements, but also in guessing his 
intentions from those movements, and in modifjdng his 
own plan whenever the enem}" interferes with it by 
some unexpected action. Now, if my uncle and Max 
drive out together, the}^ are going to Vatan ; Maxence 
will have promised to reconcile him with Flore, who 
fiigit ad salices, — the manoeuvre is General Virgil’s. 
If that ’s the line they take, I don’t jet know what I 
shall do ; I shall have some hours to think it over, for 
m3’ uncle can’t sign a power of attorney at ten o’clock 
at night ; the notaries will all be in bed. If, as I rather 
fancy, Max goes on in advance of my uncle to teach 
Flore her lesson, — which seems necessaiy and probable, 
— the rogue is lost! 3^ou will see the sort of revenge 
we old soldiers take in a game of this kind. Now, as 
I need a helper for this last stroke, I must go back to 
Mignonnet’s and make an arrangement with my friend 
Carpentier.” 

Shaking hands with Monsieur Hochon, Philippe went 
off down the Petite-Narette to Mignonnet’s house. 
Ten minutes later. Monsieur Hochon saw Max ride off 
at a quick trot ; and the old miser’s curiosit3’ was so 
powerfull}^ excited that he remained standing at his 
window, eagerly expecting to hear the wheels of the old 
demi-fortune, which was not long' in coming. Jean- 
Jacques’s impatience made him follow Max within 


314 


The Two Brothers. 


twenty minutes. Kouski, no doubt under orders from 
his master, walked the horse through the town. 

“If they get to Paris, all is lost,” thought Monsieur 
Hochon. 

At this moment, a lad from the faubourg de Rome 
came to the Hochon house with a letter for Baruch. 
The two grandsons, much subdued by the events of the 
morning, had kept their rooms of their own accord dur- 
ing the day. Thinking over their prospects, they saw 
plainly that they had better be cautious with their 
grandparents. Baruch knew very well the influence 
which his grandfather Hochon exerted over his grand- 
father and grandmother Borniche : Monsieur Hochon 
would not hesitate to get their property for Adolphine 
if his conduct were such as to make them pin their 
hopes on the grand marriage with w'hich his grandfather 
had threatened him that morning. Being richer than 
Frangois, Baruch had the most to lose ; he therefore 
counselled an absolute surrender, with no other condi- 
tion than the payment of their debt to Max. As for 
Francois, his future was entirely in the hands of his 
grandfather ; he had no expectations except from him, 
and by the guardianship account, he was now his debtor. 
The two young men accordingly gave solemn promises 
of amendment, prompted by their imperilled interests, 
and b}^ the hope Madame Hochon held out, that the 
debt to Max should be paid. 

“You have done very wrong,” she said to them ; 
“ repair it by future good conduct, and Monsieur 
Hochon will forget it.” 

So, when Fran9ois had read the letter which had been 
brought for Baruch, over the latter’s shoulder, he whis- 
pered in his ear, “ Ask grandpapa’s advice.” 


The Two Brothers, 


315 


“ Read this,” said Baruch, taking the letter to old 
Hochon. 

“ Read it to me yourself ; I have n’t my spectacles.” 

My dear Friend, — I hope you will not hesitate, under 
wtie serious circumstances in which I find myself, to do me 
the service of receiving a power of attorney from Monsieur 
Rouget. Be at Vatan to-morrow morning at nine o’clock. 
I shall probably send you to Paris, but don’t be uneasy ; 1 
will furnish you with money for the journey, and join you 
there immediately. I am almost sure I shall be obliged to 
leave Issoudun, December third. 

Adieu. I count on your friendship ; rely on that of your 
friend, Maxence. 

“God be praised!” exclaimed Monsieur Hochon; 
“ the property of that old idiot is saved from the claws 
of the devil.” 

“ It will be if you say so,” said Madame Hochon ; 
“and I thank God, — who has no doubt heard my 
prayers. The prosperity of the wicked is always 
fleeting.” 

“You must go to Vatan, and accept the power of 
attorney from Monsieur Rouget,” said the old man to 
Baruch. “ Their object is to get fifty thousand francs 
a year transferred to Mademoiselle Brazier. They will 
send you to Paris, and you must seem to go ; but you 
^are to stop at Orleans, and wait there till you hear from 
me. Let no one — not a soul — know where you lodge ; 
go to the first inn you come to in the faubourg Bannier, 
no matter if it is onl}^ a post-house — ” 

“ Look here ! ” cried Francois, who had rushed to the 
window at the sudden noise of wheels in the Grande- 
Narette. “ Here ’s something new ! — Pere Rouget and 
Colonel Bridau coming back together in the calcche, 


816 


The Two Brothers. 


Benjamin and Captain Carpentier following on horse- 
back ! ” 

“I’ll go over,” cried Monsieur Hochon, whose curi- 
osity carried the day over every other feeling. 

Monsieur Hochon found old Rouget in his bedroom, 
writing the following letter at his nephew’s dictation : 

Mademoiselle, — If you do not start to return here the 
moment you receive this letter, your conduct will show such 
ingratitude for all my goodness that I shall revoke the will I 
have made in your favor, and give my property to my nephew 
Philippe. You will understand that Monsieur Gilet can no 
longer be my guest after staying with you at Vatan. I send 
this letter by Captain Carpentier, who will put it into your 
own hands. I hope you will listen to his advice; he will 
speak to you with authority from me. 

Your affectionate 

J.-J. Rouget. 

“ Captain Carpentier and I met my uncle, who was 
so foolish as to follow Mademoiselle Brazier and Mon- 
sieur Gilet to Vatan,” said Philippe, with sarcastic em- 
phasis, to Monsieur Hochon. “ I have made my uncle 
see that he was running his head into a noose ; for that 
girl will abandon him the moment she gets him to sign 
a power of attorney, by^ which they’ mean to obtain the 
income of his money in the Funds. That letter will 
bring her back under his roof, the handsome runaway ! 
this very^ night, or I ’m mistaken. I promise to make 
her as pliable as a bit of whalebone for the rest of her 
days, if my uncle allows me to take Monsieur Gilet’s 
place ; which, in my opinion, he ought never to have 
had in the first instance. Am I not right? — and yet 
here ’s my uncle bemoaning himself! ” 

“ Neighbor,” said Monsieur Hochon, 


“ you have 


The Two Brothers. 


317 


taken the best means to get peace in your household. 
Destroy your will, and Flore will be once more what 
she used to be in the early days.” 

“ No, she will never forgive me for what I have made 
her suffer,” whimpered the old man; “she will no 
longer love me.” 

“ She shall love 3'OU, and closely too ; I ’ll take care 
of that,” said Philippe. 

“Come, open your eyes!” exclaimed Monsieur 
Hochon. “ They mean to rob 3'ou and abandon you.” 

“ Oh 1 I was sure of it ! ” cried the poor imbecile. 

“ See, here is a letter Maxence has written to my 
grandson Borniche,” said old Hochon. “ Read it.” 

“ What infam}^ I ” exclaimed Carpentier, as he lis- 
tened to the letter, which Rouget read aloud, weeping. 

“ Is that plain enough, uncle?” demanded Philippe. 
“ Hold that huss}^ by her interests and she ’ll adore j’ou 
as you deserve.” 

“ She loves Maxence too well ; she will leave me,” 
cried the frightened old man. 

“ But, uncle, Maxence or I, — one or the other of us 
— won’t leave our footsteps in the dust of Issoudiin 
three daj’s hence.” 

“ Well then, go. Monsieur Carpentier,” said Rouget ; 
“ if you promise me to bring her back, go ! You are a 
good man ; sa}^ to her in m3" name all 3'ou think 3"ou 
ought to say.” 

“ Captain Carpentier will whisper in her ear that I 
have sent to Paris for a woman whose 3"outh and beauty 
are captivating; that will bring the jade back in a 
hurry ! ” 

The captain departed, driving himself in the old 
caleche ; Benjamin accompanied him on horseback, for 


318 


The Two Brothers. 


Kouski was nowhere to be found. Though threatened 
by the officers with arrest and the loss of his situation, 
the Pole had gone to Vatan on a hired horse, to warn 
Max and Flore of the adversary’s move. After fulfilling 
his mission, Carpentier, who did not wish to drive back 
with Flore, was to change places with Benjamin, and 
take the latter’s horse. 

When Philippe was told of Kouski’s fiight he said 
to Benjamin, “ You will take the Pole’s place, from 
this time on. It is all mapping out, papa Hochon ! ” 
cried the lieutenant-colonel. ^^That banquet will be 
jovial ! ” 

“ You will come and live here, of course,” said the 
old miser. 

“ I have told Fario to send me all m3" things,” an- 
swered Philippe. “ I shall sleep in the room adjoining 
Gilet’s apartment, — if m3" uncle consents.” 

“What will come of all this? ” cried the terrified old 
man. 

“ Mademoiselle Flore Brazier is coming, gentle as a 
paschal lamb,” replied Monsieur Hochon. 

“ God grant it ! ” exclaimed Rouget, wiping his eyes. 

“ It is now seven o’cloek,” said Philippe ; “ the sover- 
eign of your heart will be here at half-past eleven : 
you ’ll never see Gilet again, and you will be as happy 
ever after as a pope. — If 3"ou want me to succeed,” 
he whispered to Monsieur Hochon, “ stay here till the 
hussy comes ; 3"Ou can help me in keeping the old man 
up to his resolution; and, together, we’ll make that 
crab-girl see on which side her bread is buttered.” 

Monsieur Hochon felt the reasonableness of the re- 
quest and stayed: but they had their hands full, for 
old Rouget gave way to childish lamentations, which 


The Two Brothers. 319 

were only quieted by Philippe’s repeating over and over 
a dozen times : — 

“Uncle, you will see that I am right when Flore 
returns to you as tender as ever. You shall be petted ; 
you will save your property: be guided by my ad- 
vice, and you ’ll live in paradise for the rest of your 
days.” 

When, about half-past eleven, wheels were heard in 
the Grande-Narette, the question was, whether the car- 
riage were returning full or empty. Rouget’s face wore 
an expression of agony, which changed to the prostra- 
tion of excessive joy when he saw the two women, as 
the carriage turned to enter the courtyard. 

“ Kouski,” said Philippe, giving a hand to Flore to 
help her down. “ You are no longer in Monsieur 
Rouget’s service. You will not sleep here to-night ; get 
your things together, and go. Benjamin takes your 
place.” 

“ Are you the master here?” said Flore sarcastically. 

“ With your permission,” replied Philippe, squeezing 
her hand as if in a vice. “ Come ! we must have an 
understanding, you and I ; ” and he led the bewildered 
woman out into the place Saint-Jean. 

“ My fine lady,” began the old campaigner, stretching 
out his right hand, “ three days hence, Maxence Gilet 
will be sent to the shades by that arm, or his will have 
taken me off guard. If I die, you will be mistress of 
my poor imbecile uncle ; bene sit. If I remain on my 
pins, you ’ll have to walk straight, and keep him sup- 
plied with first-class happiness. If you don’t, I know 
girls in Paris who are, with all due respect, much 
prettier than you ; for they are only seventeen years 
old : they would make my uncle excessively happy, and 


320 


The Two Brothers. 


they are in my interests. Begin your attentions this 
ver}’ evening ; if the old man is not as gay as a lark 
to-morrow morning, I have only a word to say to 3’ou ; 
it is this, pay attention to it, — there is but one way to 
kill a man without the interference of the law, and that 
is to fight a duel with him ; but I know three ways to' 
get rid of a woman : mind that, mj' beauty ! ” 

During this address, Flore shook like a person with 
the ague. 

“ Kill Max? — ” she said, gazing at Philippe in the 
moonlight. 

“ Come, here ’s my uncle.” 

Old Rouget, turning a deaf ear to Monsieur Hochon’s 
remonstrances, now came out into the street, and took 
Flore b^’ the hand, as a miser might have grasped his 
treasure ; he drew her back to the house and into his 
own room and shut the door. 

“ This is Saint-Lambert’s da^r, and he who deserts 
his place, loses it,” remarked Benjamin to the Pole. 

“ My master will shut 3’our mouth for 3’ou,” answered 
Kouski, departing to join Max who established himself 
at the hotel de la Poste. 

On the morrow, between nine and eleven o’clock, all 
the women talked to each other from door to door 
throughout the town. The stoiy of the wonderful change 
in the Rouget household spread everywhere. The up- 
shot of the conversations was the same on all sides, — 

“ What will happen at the banquet between Max and 
Colonel Bridau ? ” 

Philippe said but two words to the Vedie, — “ Six 
hundred francs’ annuity, or dismissal.” They were 
enough, however, to keep her neutral, for a time, be- 
tween the two great powers, Philippe and Flore. 


The Two Brothers. 


321 


Knowing Max’s life to be in danger, Flore became 
more affectionate to Rouget than in the first days of 
their alliance. Alas ! in love, a self-interested devotion 
is ' sometimes more agreeable than a truthful one ; and 
that is why many men jDay so much for clever deceivers. 
The Rabouilleuse did not appear till the next morn- 
ing, when she came down to breakfast with Rouget 
on her arm. Tears filled her eyes as she beheld, 
sitting in Max’s place, the terrible adversary, with 
his sombre blue eye, and the cold, sinister expression 
on his face. 

“ What is the matter, mademoiselle?” he said, after 
wishing his uncle good-morning. 

“ She can’t endure the idea of your fighting Maxence,” 
said old Rouget. 

“ I have not the slightest desire to kill Gilet,” an- 
swered Philippe. “ He need only take himself off from 
Issoudun and go to America on a venture. I should 
be the first to advise you to give him an outfit, and to 
wish him a safe voyage. He would soon make a for- 
tune there, and that is far more honorable than turning 
Issoudun topsy-turvy at night, and playing the devil in 
your household.” 

“Well, that’s fair enough,” said Rouget, glancing 
at Flore. 

“ A-mer-i-ca ! ” she ejaculated, sobbing. 

“ It is better to kick his legs about in a free country 
than have them rot in a pine box in France. However, 
perhaps you think he is a good shot, and can kill me ; 
it ’s on the cards,” observed the colonel. 

“Will you let me speak to him?” said Flore, implor- 
ing Philippe in a humble and submissive tone. 

‘ ‘ Certainly ; he can come here and pack up his 
21 


322 


The Two Brothers, 


things. I will stay with my uncle during that time; 
for I shall not leave the old man again,” rephed 
Philippe. 

“ Vedie,” cried Flore, “run to the hotel, and tell 
Monsieur Gilet that I beg him — ” 

“ — to come and get his belongings,” said Philippe, 
interrupting Flore’s message. 

“ Yes, yes, Vedie ; that will be a good pretext to see 
me ; I must speak to him.” 

Terror controlled her hatred ; and the shock which 
her whole being experienced when she first encoun- 
tered this strong and pitiless nature was now so over- 
whelming that she bowed before Philippe just as 
Rouget had been in the habit of bending before her. 
She anxiously awaited V4die’s return. The woman 
brought a formal refusal from Max, who requested 
Mademoiselle Brazier to send his things to the hotel 
de la Poste. 

“ Will you allow me to take them to him? ” she said 
to Jean- Jacques Rouget. 

“ Yes, but will you come back? ” said the old man. 

“ If Mademoiselle is not back by midday, j'ou will 
give me a power of attorney to attend to your prop- 
erty,” said Philippe, looking at Flore. “Take Vedie 
with you, to save appearances, mademoiselle. In future 
you are to think of my uncle’s honor.” 

Flore could get nothing out of Max. Desperate at 
having allowed himself, before the eyes of the whole 
town, to be routed out of his shameless position, Gilet 
was too proud to run away from Philippe. The Ra- 
bouilleuse combated this objection, and proposed that 
they should fiy together to America; but Max, who 
did not want Flore without her money, and yet did not 


The Two Brothers. 


323 


wish the girl to see to the bottom of his heart, insisted 
on his intention of killing Philippe. 

“We have committed a monstrous foll3",” he said. 
“We ought all three to have gone to Paris and spent 
the winter there ; but how could one guess, from the 
mere sight of that fellow’s big carcass, that things 
would turn out as they have? The turn of events is 
enough to make one giddy ! I took the colonel for one 
of those fire-eaters who have n’t two ideas in their 
head ; that was the blunder I made. As I did n’t have 
the sense to double like a hare in the beginning, I ’ll 
not be such a coward as to back down before him. 
He has lowered me in the estimation of this town, and 
I cannot get back what I have lost unless I kill him.” 

“Go to America with forty thousand francs. I’ll 
find a way to get rid of that scoundrel, and join you. 
It would be much wiser.” 

“What would people saj" of me?” he exclaimed. 
“ No ; I have buried nine already. The fellow does n’t 
seem as if he knew much ; he went from school to the 
army, and there he was always fighting till 1815 ; then 
he went to America, and I doubt if the brute ever set 
foot in a fencing-alley ; while I have no match with the 
sabre. The sabre is his arm ; I shall seem very gener- 
ous in offering it to him, — for I mean, if possible, to let 
him insult me, — and I can easily run him through. 
Unquestionably, it is my wisest course. Don’t be un- 
easy ; we shall be masters of the field in a couple of 
days.” 

Thus it was that a stupid point of honor had more 
infiuence over Max than sound policy. When Flore 
got home she shut herself up to cry at ease. During 
the whole of that day gossip ran wild in Issoudun, and 


324 


The Two Brothers. 


the duel between Philippe and Maxence was considered 
inevitable. 

“Ah! Monsieur Hochon,” said Mignonnet, who, 
accompanied by Carpentier, met the old man on the 
boulevard Baron, “we are very uneasy; for Gilet is 
clever with all weapons.” 

“Never mind,” said the old provincial diplomatist; 
“ Philippe has managed this thing well from the begin- 
ning. I never should have thought that big, easy-going 
fellow would have succeeded as he has. The two have 
rolled together like a couple of thunder-clouds.” 

“Oh!” said Carpentier, “Philippe is a remarkable 
man. His conduct before the Court of Peers was a 
masterpiece of diplomacy.” 

“Well, Captain Renard,” said one of the townsfolk 
to Max’s friend. “ They say wolves don’t devour each 
other, but it seems that Max is going to set his teeth 
in Colonel Bridau. That’s pretty serious among you 
gentlemen of the Old Guard.” 

“You make fun of it, do you? Because the poor 
fellow amused himself a little at night, you are all 
against him,” said Potel. “But Gilet is a man who 
couldn’t stay in a hole like Issoudun without finding 
something to do.” 

“Well, gentlemen,” remarked another, “Max and 
the colonel must play out their game. Bridau had 
to avenge his brother. Don’t you remember Max’s 
treachery to the poor lad ? ” 

“ Bah ! nothing but an artist,” said Renard. 

“But the real question is about the old man’s prop- 
erty,” said a third. “They say Monsieur Gilet was 
laying hands on fifty thousand francs a year, when the 
colonel turned him out of his uncle’s house.” 


The Two Brothers, 


325 


“ Gilet rob a man! Come, don’t say that to any 
one but me, Monsieur Canivet,” cried Potel. “If you 
do, I ’ll make you swallow your tongue, — and without 
any sauce.” 

Every household in town offered pra3"ers for the 
honorable Colonel Bridau. 


326 


The Two Brothers, 


XVI. 

Towards four o’clock of the following day, the offieers 
of the old army who were at Issoudun or its environs, 
were sauntering about the place du Marche, in front of 
an eating-house kept by a man named Lacroix, and 
waiting the arrival of Colonel Philippe Bridau. The 
banquet in honor of the coronation was to take place 
with military punctualit3' at five o’clock. Various groups 
of persons were talking of Max’s discomfiture, and his 
dismissal from old Rouget’s house ; for not only were 
the officers to dine at Lacroix’s, but the common sol- 
diers had determined on a meeting at a neighboring 
wine-shop. Among the oflScers, Potel and Renard were 
the only ones who attempted to defend Max. 

“Is it any of our business what takes place among 
the old man’s heirs ? ” said Renard. 

“ Max is weak with women,” remarked the cynical 
Potel. 

“There’ll be sabres unsheathed before long,” said 
an old sub-lieutenant, who cultivated a kitchen-garden 
in the upper Baltan. “ If Monsieur Maxence Gilet 
committed the folly of going to live under old Rouget’s 
roof, he would be a coward if he allowed himself to be 
turned off like a valet without asking wh^".” 

“Of course,” said Mignonnet dryty. “A folly that 
does n’t succeed becomes a crime.” 

At this moment Max joined the old soldiers of Napo- 
leon, and was received in significant silence. Potel and 


The Two Brothers. 


327 


Renard each took an arm of their friend, and walked 
about with him, conversing. Presently Philippe was 
seen approaching in full dress ; he trailed his cane after 
him with an imperturbable air which contrasted with 
the forced attention Max was paying to the remarks 
of his two supporters. Bridau’s hand was grasped by 
Mignonnet, Carpentier, and several others. This wel- 
come, so different from that accorded to Max, dispelled 
the last feeling of cowardice, or, if you prefer it, wisdom, 
which Flore’s entreaties, and above all, her tenderness, 
had awakened in the latter’s mind. 

“ We shall fight,” he said to Renard, “ and to the 
death. Therefore don’t talk to me any more ; let me 
play my part well.” 

After these words, spoken in a feverish tone, the 
three Bonapartists returned to the group of officers and 
mixed among them. Max bowed first to Bridau, who 
returned his bow, and the two exchanged a frigid 
glance. 

Come, gentlemen, let us take our seats,” said 
Potel. 

“ And drink to the health of the Little Corporal, 
who is now in the paradise of heroes,” cried Renard. 

The company poured into the long, low dining-hall 
of the restaurant Lacroix, the windows of which opened 
on the market-place. Each guest took his seat at the 
table, where, in compliance with Philippe’s request, the 
two adversaries were placed directly opposite to each 
other. Some young men of the town, among them 
several Knights of Idleness, anxious to know what 
might happen at the banquet, were walking about 
the street and discussing the critical position into 
which Philippe had contrived to force Max. They all 


328 


The Two Brothers, 


deplored the crisis, though each considered the duel to 
be inevitable. 

Eveiything went off well until the dessert, though 
the two antagonists betrayed, in spite of the apparent 
joviality of the dinner, a certain vigilance that resem- 
bled disquietude. While waiting for the quarrel that 
both were planning, Philippe showed admirable cool- 
ness, and Max a distracting gayety ; but to an ob- 
server, each was playing a part. 

When the dessert was served Philippe rose and said : 
“Fill your glasses, my friends ! I ask permission to 
propose the first toast.” 

“He said my frierids^ don’t fill your glass,” whis- 
pered Penard to Max. 

Max poured out some wine. 

“ To the Grand Army ! ” cried Philippe, with genu- 
ine enthusiasm. 

“ To the Grand Army ! ” was repeated with accla- 
mation by every voice. 

At this moment eleven private soldiers, among whom 
were Benjamin and Kouski, appeared at the door of 
the room and repeated the toast, — 

“ To the Grand Arn^ ! ” 

“Come in, my sons; we are going to drink His 
health.” 

The old soldiers came in and stood behind the 
officers. 

“You see He is not dead ! ” said Kouski to an old 
sergeant, who had perhaps been grieving that the 
Emperor’s agony was over. 

“ I claim the second toast,” said Mignonnet, as he 
rose. “Let us drink to those who attempted to re- 
store His son ! ” 


The Two Brothers, 


329 


Every one present, except Maxence Gilet, bowed to 
Philippe Bridau, and stretched their glasses towards him. 

“ One word,” said Max, rising. 

“It is Max ! it is Max ! ” cried voices outside ; and 
then a deep silence reigned in the room and in the 
street, for Gilet’s known character made every one 
expect a taunt. 

“ May we all meet again at this time next year,” 
said Max, bowing ironically to Philippe. 

“ It ’s coming ! ” whispered Kouski to his neighbor. 

“ The Paris police would never allow a banquet of 
this kind,” said Potel to Philippe. 

“ Why the devil do j ou mention the police to Colonel 
Bridau ? ” said Maxence insolently. 

“ Captain Potel — he — meant no insult,” said 
Philippe, smiling coldly. The stillness was so pro- 
found that the buzzing of a fly could have been heard 
if there had been one. 

“ The police were sufficiently afraid of me,” resumed 
Philippe, “to send me to Issoudun, — a place where 
I have had the pleasure of meeting old comrades, but 
where, it must be owned, there is a dearth of amuse- 
ment. For a man who does n’t despise folly, I ’m 
rather restricted. However, it is certainly economical, 
for I am not one of those to whom feather-beds 
give incomes ; Mariette of the Grand Opera cost me 
fabulous sums.” 

“ Is that remark meant for me, my dear colonel? ” 
asked Max, sending a glance at Philippe which was 
like a current of electricit}". 

“ Take it as you please,” answered Bridau. 

“ Colonel, m3' two friends here, Renard and Potel, 
will call to-morrow on — ” 


330 


The Two Brothers, 


“ — on Mignonnet and Carpentier,” answered Phil- 
ippe, cutting short Max’s sentence, and motioning 
towards his two neighbors. 

“Now,” said Max, “ let us go on with the toasts.” 

The two adversaries had not raised their voices 
above the tone of ordinary conversation ; there was 
nothing solemn in the affair except the dead silence in 
which it took place. 

“ Look here, you others ! ” cried Philippe, addressing 
the soldiers who stood behind the officers ; “ remem- 
ber that our affairs don’t concern the bourgeoisie — not 
a word, therefore, on what goes on here. It is for the 
Old Guard only.” 

“ They’ll obey orders, colonel,” said Renard. “I’ll 
answer for them.” 

“ Long live His little one ! May he reign over 
France ! ” cried Potel. 

“ Death to Englishmen ! ” cried Carpentier. 

That toast was received with prodigious applause. 

“ Shame on Hudson Lowe,” said Captain Renard. 

The dessert passed olf well ; the libations were plen- 
tiful. The antagonists and their four seconds made 
it a point of honor that a duel, involving so large a 
fortune, and the reputation of two men noted for their 
courage, should not appear the result of an ordinary 
squabble. No two gentlemen could have behaved 
better than Philippe and Max ; in this respect the 
anxious waiting of the young men and townspeople 
grouped about the market-place was balked. All the 
guests, like true soldiers, kept silence as to the epi- 
sode which took place at dessert. At ten o’clock that 
night the two adversaries were informed that the sabre 
was the weapon agreed upon by the seconds ; the 


The Two Brothers. 


331 


place chosen for the rendezvous was behind the chancel 
of the church of the Capuchins at eight o’clock the 
next morning. Goddet, who was at the banquet in 
his quality of former army surgeon, was requested to 
be present at the meeting. The seconds agreed that, 
no matter what might happen, the combat should last 
only ten minutes. 

At eleven o’clock that night, to Colonel Bridau’s 
amazement. Monsieur Hochon appeared at his rooms 
just as he was going to bed, escorting Madame 
Hochon. 

“We know what has happened,” said the old lady, 
with her eyes full of tears, “ and I have come to en- 
treat you not to leave the house to-morrow morning 
without saying your prayers. Lift your soul to 
God ! ” 

“ Yes, madame,” said Philippe, to whom old Hochon 
made a sign from behind his wife’s back. 

“ That is not all,” said Agathe’s godmother. “ I 
stand in the place of your poor mother, and I divest 
myself, for you, of a thing which I hold most precious, 
— here,” she went on, holding towards Philippe a 
tooth, fastened upon a piece of black velvet embroid- 
ered in gold, to which she had sewn a pair of green 
strings. Having shown it to him, she replaced it in a 
little bag. “ It is a relic of Sainte Solange, the patron 
saint of Berry,” she said. “ I saved it during the 
Revolution ; wear it on your breast to-morrow.” 

“Will it protect me from a sabre-thrust?” asked 
Philippe. 

“ Yes,” replied the old lady. 

“Then I have no right to wear that accoutrement 
any more than if it were a cuirass,” cried Agathe’s son. 


332 


The Two Brothers. 


“ What does he mean?” said Madame Hochon. 

“ He says it is not playing fair,” answered Hochon. 

“ Then we will say no more about it,” said the old 
lady, “ I shall pray for you.” 

“Well, madame, prayer — and a good point — can 
do no harm,” said Philippe, making a thrust as if to 
pierce Monsieur Hochon’s heart. 

The old lady kissed the colonel on his forehead. As 
she left the house, she gave thirt}^ francs — all the 
mone}^ «he possessed — to Benjamin, requesting him to 
sew the relic into the pocket of his master’s trousers. 
Benjamin did so, — not that he believed in the virtue of 
the tooth, for he said his master had a much better 
talisman than that against Gilet, but because his con- 
science constrained him to fulfil a commission for which 
he had been so liberally paid. Madame Hochon went 
home full of confidence in Sainte Solange. 

At eight o’clock the next morning, December third, 
the weather being cloudy, Max, accompanied by his sec- 
onds and the Pole, arrived on the little meadow which 
then surrounded the apse of the church of the Capuchins. 
There he found Philippe and his seconds, with Benjamin, 
waiting for him. Potel and Mignonnet paced oflT 
twent3'-four feet; at each extremit3% the two attend- 
ants drew a line on the earth with a spade : the 
combatants were not allowed to retreat be3'ond that 
line, on pain of being thought cowardly. Each was to 
stand at his own line, and advance as he pleased when 
the secopds gave the word. 

“Do we take off our coats?” said Philippe to his 
adversary coldly. 

“ Of course,” answered Maxence, with the assump- 
tion of a bully. 


The Two Brothers. 


333 


They did so ; the rosy tints of their skin appear- 
ing through the cambric of their shirts. Each, armed 
with a cavalry sabre selected of equal weight, about 
three pounds, and equal length, three feet, placed him- 
self at his own line, the point of his weapon on the 
ground, awaiting the signal. Both were so calm that, 
in spite of the cold, their muscles quivered no more 
than if they had been made of iron. Goddet, the four 
^ seconds, and the two soldiers felt an involuntary 
admiration. 

“They are a proud pair ! ” 

The exclamation came from Potel. 

Just as the signal was given. Max caught sight of 
Fario’s sinister face looking at them through the hole 
which the Knights of Idleness had made for the pigeons 
in the roof of the church. Those eyes, which sent 
forth streams of fire, hatred, and revenge, dazzled Max 
for a moment. The colonel went straight to his adver- 
sary, and put himself on guard in a way that gained 
him an advantage. Experts in the art of killing, know 
that, of two antagonists, the ablest takes the “inside of 
the pavement,” — to use an expression which gives the 
reader a tangible idea of the effect of a good guard. 
That pose, which is in some degree observant, marks 
so plainly a duellist of the first rank that a feeling of 
inferiority came into Max’s soul, and produced the 
same disan’ay of powers which demoralizes a gambler 
when, in presence of a master or a lucky hand, he loses 
his self-possession and plays less well than usual. 

“ Ah ! the lascar ! ” thought Max, “ he ’s an expert ; 
I’m lost!” 

He attempted a mouUnet^ and twirled his sabre with 
the dexterity of a single-stick. He wanted to bewilder 


334 


The Two Brothers, 


Philippe, and strike his weapon so as to disarm him ; 
but at the first encounter he felt that the colonel’s wrist 
was iron, with the flexibility of a steel spring. Maxence 
was then forced, unfortunate fellow, to think of another 
move, while Philippe, whose e^^es were darting gleams 
that were sharper than the flash of their blades, parried 
every attack with the coolness of a fencing-master wear- 
ing his plastron in an armory. 

Between two men of the calibre of these combat- 
ants, there occurs a phenomenon very like that which 
takes place among the lower classes, during the ter- 
rible tussle called the savate^ which is fought with the 
feet, as the name implies. Victory dqoends on a false 
movement, on some error of the calculation, rapid as 
lightning, which must be made and followed almost 
instinctivel3% During a period of time as short to the 
spectators as it seems long to the combatants, the con- 
test lies in observation, so keen as to absorb the powers 
of mind and body, and 3"et concealed b^’ preparatory 
feints whose slowness and apparent prudence seem to 
show that the antagonists are not intending to fight. 
This moment, which is followed hy a rapid and decisive 
struggle, is terrible to a connoisseur. At a bad parry 
from Max the colonel sent the sabre spinning from his 
hand. 

“ Pick it up, ” he said, pausing ; “ I am not the man 
to kill a disarmed enemy.” 

There was something atrocious in the grandeur of 
these words ; they seemed to show such consciousness 
of superiority that the onlookers took them for a shrewd 
calculation. In fact, when Max replaced himself in 
position, he had lost his coolness, and was once more 
confronted with his adversary’s raised guard which 


The Two Brothers. 


335 


defended the colonel’s whole person while it menaced 
his. He resolved to redeem his shameful defeat by a 
bold stroke. He no longer guarded himself, but took 
his sabre in both hands and rushed furiously on his 
antagonist, resolved to kill him, if he had to lose his 
own life. Philippe received a sabre-cut which slashed 
open his forehead and a part of his face, but he cleft 
Max’s head obliquely by the terrible sweep of a mow- 
linet., made to break the force of the annihilating stroke 
Max aimed at him. These two savage blows ended 
the combat, at the ninth minute. Fario came down to 
gloat over the sight of his enemy in the convulsions of 
death ; for the muscles of a man of Maxence Gilet’s 
vigor quiver horribly. Philippe was carried back to 
his uncle’s house. 

Thus perished a man destined to do great deeds had 
he lived his life amid environments which were suited 
to him ; a man treated by Nature as a favorite child, 
for she gave him courage, self-possession, and the 
political sagacity of a Caesar Borgia. But education 
had not bestowed upon him that nobihty of conduct 
and ideas without which nothing great is possible in 
any walk of life. He was not regretted, because of the 
perfidy with which his adversary, who was a worse man 
than he, had contrived to bring him into disrepute. His 
death put an end to the exploits of the Order of Idle- 
ness, to the great satisfaction of the town of Issoudun. 
Philippe, therefore, had nothing to fear in consequence 
of the duel, which seemed almost the result of divine 
vengeance : its circumstances were related throughout 
that whole region of country, with unanimous praise 
for the bravery of the two combatants. 

“But they had better both have been killed,” 


336 


The Two Brothers. 


remarked Monsieur Mouilleron ; “it would have been a 
good riddance for the Government.” 

The situation of Flore Brazier would have been voiy 
embarrassing were it not for the condition into which 
she was thrown by Max’s death. A brain-fever set in, 
combined with a dangerous inflammation resulting from 
her escapade to Vatan. If she had had her usual health, 
she might have fled the house where, in the room above 
her, Max’s room, and in Max’s bed, lay and suffered 
Max’s murderer. She hovered between life and death 
for three months, attended b}^ Monsieur Goddet, who 
was also attending Philippe. 

As soon as Philippe was able to hold a pen, he wrote 
the following letters : — 

To Monsieur Desroches: 

I have already killed the most venomous of the two rep- 
tiles; not however without getting my own head split open 
by a sabre ; but the rascal struck with a dying hand. The 
other viper is here, and I must come to an understanding with 
her, for my uncle clings to her like the apple of his eye. I 
have been half afraid the girl, who is devilishly handsome, 
might run away, and then my uncle would have followed her; 
but an illness which seized her suddenly has kept her in bed. 
If God desired to protect me, he would call her soul to him- 
self, now, while she is repenting of her sins. Meantime, on 
my side I have, thanks to that old trump, Hochon, the doc- 
tor of Tssoudun, one named Goddet, a worthy soul who con- 
ceives that the property of uncles ought to go to nephews 
rather than to sluts. 

Mopsieur Hochon has some influence on a certain papa 
Fichet, who is rich, and whose daughter Goddet wants as a 
wife for his son: so the thousand francs they have promised 
him if he mends up my pate is not the chief cause of his 
devotion. Moreover, this Goddet, who was formerly head- 
surgeon to the 3rd regiment of the line, has been privately 


The Two Brothers. 


337 


advised by my stanch friends, Mignonnet and Carpentier; 
so he is now playing the hypocrite with his other patient. 
He says to Mademoiselle Brazier, as he feels her pulse, “ You 
see, my child, that there ’s a God after all. You have been 
the cause of a great misfortune, and you must now repair it. 
The finger of God is in all this [it is inconceivable what 
they don’t say the finger of God is in!]. Religion is re- 
ligion; submit, resign yourself, and that will quiet you better 
than my drugs. Above all, resolve to stay here and take care 
of your master: forget and forgive, — that ’s Christianity.” 

Goddet has promised to keep the Rabouilleuse three 
months in her bed. By degrees the girl will get accustomed 
to living under the same roof with me. I have bought over 
the cook. That abominable old woman tells her mistress 
Max would have led her a hard life ; and declares she over- 
heard him say that if, after the old man’s death, he was 
obliged to marry Flore, he did n’t mean to have his prospects 
ruined by it, and he should find a way to get rid of her. 

Thus, all goes well, so far. My uncle, by old Hochon’s 
advice, has destroyed his will. 

To Monsieur Giroudeau^ care of Mademoiselle Florentine. Rue 
de Vendome, Marais: 

My dear old Fellow, — Find out if the little rat Ce- 
sarine has any engagement, and if not, try to arrange that 
she can come to Issoudun in case I send for her; if I do, she 
must come at once. It is a matter this time of decent behav- 
ior; no theatre morals. She must present herself as the 
daughter of a brave soldier, killed on the battle-field. There- 
fore, mind, — sober manners, schoolgirl’s clothes, virtue of the 
best quality; that ’s the watchword. If I need Cesarine, 
and if she answers my purpose, I will give her fifty thousand 
francs on my uncle’s death. If Cesarine has other engage- 
ments, explain w’^hat I want to Florentine ; and between you, 
find me some ballet-girl capable of playing the part. 

I have had my skull cracked in a duel with the fellow who 
was filching my inheritance, and is now feeding the worms. 

22 


338 


The Two Brothers. 


I ’ll tell you all about it some day. Ah ! old fellow, the good 
times are coming back for you and me ; we ’ll amuse ourselves 
once more, or we are not the pair we really are. If you can 
send me five hundred more cartridges I ’ll bite them. 

Adieu, my old fire-eater. Light your pipe with this let- 
ter. Mind, the daughter of the officer is to come from Cha- 
teauroux, and must seem to be in need of assistance. I hope 
however that I shall not be driven to such dangerous expe- 
dients. Remember me to Mariette and all our friends. 

Agathe, informed by Madame Hochon of what had 
happened, rushed to Issondun, and was received by 
her brother, who gave her Philippe’s former room. The 
poor mother’s tenderness for the worthless son revived 
in all its maternal strength ; a few happ}- daj’s were hers 
at last, as she listened to the praises which the whole 
town bestowed upon her hero. 

“ After all, my child,” said Madame Hochon on the 
day of her arrival, “youth must have its fling. The 
dissipations of a soldier under the Empire must, of course, 
be greater than those of young men who are looked after 
their fathers. Oh ! if you only knew what went on here 
at night under that wretched Max ! Thanks to your 
son, Issoudun now breathes and sleeps in peace. Phi- 
lippe has come to his senses rather late ; he told us 
frankly that three months in the Luxembourg sobered 
him. Monsieur Hochon is delighted with his conduct 
here ; every one thinks highty of it. If he can be kept 
awa}^ from the temptations of Paris, he will end by 
being a comfort to you.” 

Hearing these consolatory words Agathe’s eyes filled 
with tears. 

Philippe played the saint to his mother, for he had 
need of her. That wily politician did not wish to have 


The Two Brothers, 


339 


recourse to Cesarine unless he continued to be an object 
of horror to Mademoiselle Brazier. He saw that Flore 
had been thoroughly broken to harness by Max ; he 
knew she was an essential part of his uncle’s life, and 
he greatty preferred to use her rather than send for the 
ballet-girl, who might take it into her head to marry the 
old man. Fouche advised Louis XVIII. to sleep in 
Napoleon’s sheets instead of granting the charter ; and 
Philippe would have liked to remain in Gilet’s sheets ; 
but he was reluctant to risk the good reputation he had 
made for himself in Berry. To take Max’s place witli 
the Rabouilleuse would be as odious on his part as on 
hers. He could, without discredit and by the laws of 
nepotism, live in his uncle’s house and at his uncle’s 
expense ; but he could not have Plore unless her char- 
acter were whitewashed. Hampered by this difficulty, 
and stimulated by the hope of finall}' getting hold of 
the property, the idea came into his head of making 
his uncle marry the Rabouilleuse. With this in view 
he requested his mother to go and see the girl and treat 
her in a sisterl}" manner. 

“I must confess, my dear mother,” he said, in a 
canting tone, looking at Monsieur and Madame Hochon 
who accompanied her, “ that my uncle’s wa}^ of life 
is not becoming; he could, however, make Mademoi- 
selle Brazier respected by the community if he chose. 
Would n’t it be far better for her to be Madame Rou- 
get than the servant-mistress of an old bachelor ? She 
had better obtain a definite right to his propertj^ by a 
marriage contract than threaten a whole family with 
disinheritance. If 3"Ou, or Monsieur Hochon, or some 
good priest would speak of the matter to both parties, 
you might put a stop to a scandal which offends 


840 


The Two Brothers. 


decent people. Mademoiselle Brazier would be only 
too happy if you were to welcome her as a sister, and 
I as an aunt.” 

On the morrow Agathe and Madame Hochon ap- 
peared at Flore’s bedside, and repeated to the sick 
girl and to Rouget, the excellent sentiments expressed 
by Philippe. Throughout Issoudun the colonel was 
talked of as a man of noble character, especially 
because of his conduct towards Flore. For a month, 
the Rabouilleuse heard Goddet, her doctor, the in- 
dividual who has paramount influence over a sick 
person, the respectable Madame Hochon, moved by 
religious principle, and Agathe, so gentle and pious, 
all representing to her the advantages of a marriage 
with Rouget. And when, attracted by the idea of be- 
coming Madame Rouget, a dignified and virtuous bour- 
geoise, she grew eager to recover, so that the marriage 
might speedily be celebrated, it was not difficult to 
make her understand she would not be allowed to 
enter the family of the Rougets if she intended to turn 
Philippe from its doors. 

“Besides,” remarked the doctor, “you reall}’ owe 
him this good fortune. Max would never have allowed 
you to marry old Rouget. And,” he added in her ear, 
“ifj^ou have children, you will revenge Max, for that 
will disinherit the Bridaus.” 

Two months after the fatal duel in February, 1823, 
the sick woman, urged by those about her, and im- 
plored by Rouget, consented to receive Philippe, the 
sight of whose scars made her weep, but whose soft- 
ened and almost affectionate manner calmed her. By 
Philippe’s wish they were left alone together. 

“ My dear child,” said the soldier. “ It is I, who. 


The Two Brothers. 


341 


from the start, have advised j^our marriage with my 
uncle ; if you consent, it will take place as soon as 
you are quite recovered.” 

‘‘ So they tell me,” she replied. 

Circumstances have compelled me to give you pain, 
it is natural therefore that I should wish to do you all 
the good I can. Wealth, respect, and a family posi- 
tion are worth more than what you have lost. You 
would n’t have been that fellow’s wife long after my 
uncle’s death, for I happen to know, through friends of 
his, that he intended to get rid of you. Come, my 
dear, let us understand each other, and live happily. 
You shall be my aunt, and nothing more than my aunt. 
You will take care that m}^ uncle does not forget me in 
his will ; on my side, 3'OU shall see how well I will 
have 3^011 treated in the marriage contract. Keep calm, 
think it over, and we will talk of it later. All sensible 
people, indeed the whole town, urge 3^ou to put an end 
to your illegal position ; no one will blame 3'Ou for 
receiving me. It is well understood in the world that 
interests go before feelings. B3^ the da3' of 3^our mar- 
riage 3’ou will be handsomer than ever. The pallor of 
illness has given 3^ou an air of distinction, and on my 
honor, if my uncle did not love you so madl3% 3’ou 
should be the wife of Colonel Bridau.” 

Philippe left the room, having dropped this hint into 
Flore’s mind to waken a vague idea of vengeance 
which might please the girl, who did, in fact, feel a sort 
of happiness as she saw this dreadful being at her feet. 
In this scene Pliilippe repeated, in miniature, that of 
Richard III. with the queen he had widowed. 'The 
meaning of it is that personal calculation, hidden under 
sentiment, has a powerful inlluence on the heart, and 


342 


The Two Brothers, 


is able to dissipate even genuine grief. This is how, 
in individual life, Nature does that which in works of 
genius is thought to be consummate art : she works by 
self-interest, — the genius of mone}". 

At the beginning of April, 1823, the hall of Jean- 
Jacques Rouget’s house was the scene of a splendid 
dinner, given to celebrate the signing of the marriage 
contract between Mademoiselle Flore Brazier and 
the old bachelor. The guests were Monsieur Heron, 
the four witnesses. Messieurs Mignonnet, Carpentier, 
Hochon and Goddet, the mayor and the curate, 
Agathe Bridau, Madame Hochon, and her friend Ma- 
dame Borniche, two old ladies who laid down the law 
to the society of Issoudun. The bride was much im- 
pressed by this concession, obtained by Philippe, and 
intended by the two ladies as a mark of protection to 
a repentant woman. Flore was in dazzling beaut}'. 
The curate, who for the last fortnight had been in- 
structing the ignorant crab-girl, was to allow her, on 
the following day, to make her first communion. The 
marriage was the text of the following pious article in 
the “ Journal du Cher,” published at Bourges, and in 
the “ Journal de I’Indre,” published at Chateauroux : 

Issoudun. — The revival of religion is progressing in 
Berry. Friends of the Church and all respectable persons 
in this town were yesterday witnesses of a marriage cere- 
mony by which a leading man of property put an end to a 
scandalous connection, which began at the time when the 
authority of religion was overthrown in this region. This 
event, due to the enlightened zeal of the clergy of Issoudun 
will, we trust, have imitators, and put a stop to marriages, 
so-called, which have neVer been solemnized, and were only 
contracted during the disastrous epoch of revolutionary rule. 


The Two Brothers. 


343 


One remarkable feature of the event to which we allude, is 
the fact that it was brought about at the entreaty of a colonel 
belonging to the old army, sent to our town by a sentence of 
the Court of Peers, who may, in consequence, lose the inheri- 
tnce of his uncle’s property. Such disinterestedness is so 
rare in these days that it deserves public mention. 

By the marriage contract Rouget secured to Flore a 
dower of one hundred thousand francs, and a life an- 
nuity of thirty thousand more. 

After the wedding, which was sumptuous, Agathe 
returned to Paris the happiest of mothers, and told 
Joseph and Desroches what she called the good news. 

“Your son Philippe is too wily a man not to keep 
his paw on that inheritance,” said the lawyer, when he 
had heard Madame Bridau to the end. “You and your 
poor Joseph will never get one penny of your brother's 
property.” 

“ You, and Joseph too, will always be unjust to that 
poor boy,” said the mother. “ His conduct before the 
Court of Peers was worthy of a statesman ; he suc- 
ceeded in saving many heads. Philippe’s errors came 
from his great faculties being unemployed. He now 
sees how faults of conduct injure the prospects of a man 
who has his way to make. He is ambitious ; that I am 
sure of; and I am not the only one to predict his fu- 
ture. Monsieur Hochon firmly believes that Philippe 
has a noble destiny before him.” 

“ Oh ! if he chooses to apply his perverted powers to 
making his fortune, I have no doubt he will succeed : he 
is capable of everything ; and such fellows go fast and 
far,” said Desroches. 

“ Why do you suppose that he will not succeed by 
honest means?” demanded Madame Bridau. 


344 


The Two Brothers. 


“ You will see ! ” exclaimed Desroches. “ Fortunate 
or unfortunate, Philippe will remain the man of the rue 
Mazarin, the murderer of Madame Descoings, the 
domestic thief. But don’t worry yourself; he will 
manage to appear honest to the world.” 

After breakfast, on the morning succeeding the mar- 
riage, Philippe took Madame Rouget b}' the arm when 
his uncle rose from table and went upstairs to dress, — 
for the pair had come down, the one in her morning- 
robe, and the other in his dressing-gown. 

‘‘M}- dear aunt,” said the colonel, leading her into 
the recess of a window, “ j^ou now belong to the fam- 
il}'. Thanks to me, the law has tied the knot. Now, 
no nonsense. I intend that you and I shall play above 
board. I know the tricks you will try against me ; and 
I shall watch you like a duenna. You will never go 
out of this house except on m3’ arm ; and you will never 
leave me. As to what passes within the house, damn 
it, you ’ll find me like a spider in the middle of his web. 
Here is something,” he continued, showing the bewil- 
dered woman a letter, “ which will prove to you that I 
could, while you were lying ill upstairs, unable to move 
hand or foot, have turned 3"ou out of doors without a 
penny. Read it.” 

He gave her the letter. 

My dear Fellow, — Florentine, who has just made her 
debut at the new Opera House in a pas de trois with Mariette 
and Tullia, is thinking steadily about your affair, and so 
is Florine, — who has finally given up Lousteau and taken 
^Nathan. That shrewd pair have found you a most delicious 
little creature, — only seventeen, beautiful as an English 
woman, demure as a “lady,” up to all mischief, sly as 


The Two Brothers. 


345 


Desroches, faithful as Godeschal. Mariette is forming her, 
so as to give you a fair chance. No woman could hold her 
own against this little angel, who is a devil under her skin ; 
she can play any part you please ; get complete possession of 
your uncle, or drive him crazy with love. She has that 
celestial look^poor Coralie used to have ; she can weep, — the 
tones of her voice will draw a thousand-franc note from a 
granite heart; and the young mischief soaks up champagne 
better than any of us. It is a precious discovery ; she is 
under obligations to Mariette, and wants to pay them off. 
After squandering the fortunes of two Englishmen, a Rus- 
sian, and an Italian prince. Mademoiselle Esther is now in 
poverty; give her ten thousand francs, that will satisfy her. 
She has just remarked, laughing, that she has never yet 
fricasseed a bourgeois, and it will get her hand in. Esther 
is well known to Finot, Bixiou, and des Lupeaulx, in fact to 
all our set. Ah ! if there were any real fortunes left in France, 
she would be the greatest courtesan of modern times. 

All the editorial staff, Nathan, Finot, Bixiou, etc., are now 
joking the aforesaid Esther in a magnificent appartement just 
arranged for Florine by old Lord Dudley (the real father of 
de Marsay) ; the lively actress captured him by the dress of 
her new role. Tullia is with the Due de Rhetore, Mariette 
is still with the Due de Maufrigneuse ; between them, they 
will get your sentence remitted in time for the King’s fete. 
Bury your uncle under the roses before the Saint-Louis, 
bring away the property, and spend a little of it with Esther 
and your old friends, who sign this epistle in a body, to re- 
mind you of them. 

Nathan, Florine, Bixiou, Finot, Mariette, 

Florentine, Giroudeau, Tullia. 

The letter shook in the trembling hands of Madame 
Rouget, and betra3^ed the terror of her mind and body. 
The aunt dared not look at the nephew, who fixed his 
eyes upon her with terrible meaning. 


346 


The Two Brothers. 


“I trust you,” he said, “as you see; but I expect 
some return. I have made you my aunt intending to 
marry you some day. You are worth more to me than 
Esther in managing my uncle. In a year from now, we 
must be in Paris ; the only place where beauty really 
lives. You will amuse yourself much better there than 
here ; it is a perpetual carnival. I shall return to the 
army, and become a general, and you will be a great 
lady. There’s our future ; now work for it. But I 
must have a pledge to bind this agreement. You are 
to give me, within a month from now, a power of 
attorney from my uncle, which you must obtain under 
pretence of relieving him of the fatigues of business. 
Also, a month later, I must have a special power of 
attorney to transfer the income in the Funds. When 
that stands in my name, you and I have an equal in- 
terest in marrying each other. There it all is, my 
beautiful aunt, as plain as day. Between you and me 
there must be no ambiguity. I can marry my aunt at 
the end of a year’s widowhood ; but I could not marry 
a disgraced girl.” 

He left the room without waiting for an answer. 
When Vedie came in, fifteen minutes later, to clear the 
table, she found her mistress pale and moist with per- 
spiration, in spite of the season. Flore felt like a 
woman who had fallen to the bottom of a precipice ; 
the future loomed black before her ; and on its black- 
ness, in the far distance, were shapes of monstrous 
things, indistinctly perceptible, and terrifying. She felt 
the damp chill of vaults, instinctive fear of the man 
crushed her ; and yet a voice cried in her ear that she 
deserved to have him for her master. She was helpless 
against her fate. Flore Brazier had had a room of her 


The Two Brothers, 


347 


own in Rouget’s house ; but Madame Rouget belonged 
to her husband, and was now deprived of the free-will 
of a servant-mistress. In the horrible situation in which 
she now found herself, the hope of having a child came 
into her mind ; but she soon recognized its impossi- 
bilit}^ The marriage was to Jean- Jacques what the 
second marriage of Louis XII. was to that king. The 
incessant watchfulness of a man like Philippe, who had 
nothing to do and never quitted his post of observa- 
tion, made any form of vengeance impossible. Benjamin 
was his innocent and devoted sp}^ The Vedie trembled 
before him. Flore felt herself deserted and utterly 
helpless. She began to fear death. Without knowing 
how Philippe might manage to kill her, she felt certain 
that whenever he suspected her of pregnancy her doom 
would be sealed. The sound of that voice, the veiled 
glitter of that gambler’s eye, the slightest movement of 
the soldier, who treated her with a brutality that was still 
polite, made her shudder. As to the power of attorney 
demanded by the ferocious colonel, who in the eyes of 
all Issoudun was a hero, he had it as soon as he wanted 
it ; for Flore fell under the man’s dominion as France 
had fallen under that of Napoleon. 

Like a butterfly whose feet are caught in the incan- 
descent wax of a taper, Rouget rapidly dissipated his 
remaining strength. In presence of that decay, the 
nephew remained as cold and impassible as the diplo- 
matists of 1814 during the convulsions of imperial 
France. 

Philippe, who did not believe in Napoleon II., now 
wrote the following letter to the minister of war, which 
Mariette made the Due de Maufrigneuse convey to that 
functionary : — 


348 


The Two Brothers. 


Monseigneur, — Napoleon is no more. I desired to re- 
main faithful to him according to my oath ; now I am free 
to offer my services to His Majesty. If your Excellency 
deigns to explain my conduct to His Majesty, the King 
will see that it is in keeping with the laws of honor, if not 
with those of his government. The King, who thought it 
proper that his aide-de-camp. General Rapp, should mourn 
his former master, will no doubt feel indulgently for me. 
Napoleon was my benefactor. 

I therefore entreat your Excellency to take into considera- 
tion the request I make for employment in my proper rank ; 
and I beg to assure you of my entire submission. The King 
will find in me a faithful subject. 

Deign to accept the assurance of respect with which I have 
the honor to be. 

Your Excellency’s very submissive and 

Very humble servant, 

PiiiLirPE Bridau. 

Formerly chief of squadron in the dragoons of the Guard; 

officer of the Legion of honor; now under police surveil- 
lance at Issoudun. 

To this letter was joined a request for permission to 
go to Paris on urgent family business ; and Monsieur 
Mouilleron annexed letters from the mayor, the sub- 
prefect, and the commissary of police at Issoudun, all 
bestowing many praises on Philippe’s conduct, and 
dwelling upon the newspaper article relating to his 
uncle’s marriage. 

Two weeks later, Philippe received the desired per- 
mission, and a letter, in which the minister of war 
informed him that, by order of the King, he was, as 
a preliminary favor, reinstated lieutenant-colonel in the 
roj^al army. 


The Two Brothers. 


S49 


XVII. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Bridau returned to Paris, tak- 
ing with him his aunt and the helpless Eouget, whom 
he escorted, three days after their arrival, to the 
Treasury, where Jean-Jacques signed the transfer of 
the income, which henceforth became Philippe’s. The 
exhausted old man and the Rabouilleuse were now 
plunged by their nephew into the excessive dissipa- 
tions of the dangerous and restless society of actresses, 
journalists, artists, and the equivocal women among 
whom Philippe had already wasted his youth ; where 
old Rouget found excitements that soon after killed 
him. Instigated by Giroudeau, Lolotte, one of the 
handsomest of the Opera ballet- girls, was the ami- 
able assassin of the old man. Rouget died after a 
splendid supper at Florentine’s, and Lolotte threw the 
blame of his death upon a slice of pate de foie gras ; 
as the Strasburg masterpiece could make no defence, 
it was considered settled that the old man died of 
indigestion. 

Madame Rouget was in her element in the midst 
of this excessively decollete society ; but Philippe gave 
her in charge of Mariette, and that monitress did not 
allow the widow — whose mourning was diversified with 
a few amusements — to commit any actual follies. 

In October, 1823, Philippe returned to Issoudun, fur- 
nished with a power of attorney from his aunt, to liqui- 
date the estate of his uncle ; a business that was soon 


350 


The Two Brothers. 


over, for he returned to Paris in March, 1824, with six- 
teen hundred thousand francs, — the net proceeds of old 
Rouget’s property, not counting the precious pictures, 
which had never left Monsieur Hochon’s hands. Philippe 
put the whole property into the hands of Mongenod and 
Sons, where young Baruch Borniche was employed, and 
on whose solvency and business probity old Hochon 
had given him satisfactory assurances. This house took 
his sixteen hundred thousand francs at six per cent per 
annum, on condition of three months’ notice in case of 
the withdrawal of the money. 

One fine day, Philippe went to see his mother, and 
invited her to be present at his marriage, which was 
witnessed by Giroudeau, Finot, Nathan, and Bixiou. 
By the terms of the marriage contract, the widow 
Rouget, whose portion of her late husband’s propert3^ 
amounted to a million of francs, secured to her future 
husband her whole fortune in case she died without 
children. No invitations to the wedding were sent out, 
nor any billets de faire part ; Philippe had his designs. 
He lodged his wife in an appartement in the rue Saint- 
Georges, which he bought ready-furnished from Lolotte. 
Madame Bridau the ^^ounger thought it delightful, and 
her husband rarelj" set foot in it. Without her knowl- 
edge, Philippe purchased in the rue de Clichy, at a 
time when no one suspected the value which property 
in that quarter would one day acquire, a magnificent 
hotel for two hundred and fifty thousand francs ; of 
which he paid one hundred and fifty thousand down, 
taking two years to pay the remainder. He spent large 
sums in altering the interior and furnishing it ; in fact, 
he put his income for two years into this outlay. The 
pictures, now restored, and estimated at three hundred 


The Two Brothers. 


351 


thousand francs, appeared in such surroundings in all 
their beauty. 

The accession of Charles X. had brought into still 
greater court favor the family of the Due de Chaulieu, 
whose eldest son, the Due de Rhetore, was in the 
habit of seeing Philippe at Tullia's. Under Charles X., 
the elder branch of the Bourbons, believing itself per- 
manentlj’’ seated on the throne, followed the advice pre- 
viously given by Marshal Gouvion-Saint-Cyr to encourage 
the adherence of the soldiers of the Empire. Philippe, 
who had no doubt made invaluable revelations as to 
the conspiracies of 1820 and 1822, was appointed 
lieutenant-colonel in the regiment of the Due de Mau- 
frigneuse. That fascinating nobleman thought himself 
bound to protect the man from whom he had taken 
Mariette. The corps-de-ballet went for something, 
therefore, in the appointment. Moreover, it was de- 
cided in the private councils of Charles X. to give a 
faint tinge of liberalism to the surroundings of Mon- 
seigneur the Dauphin. Philippe, now a sort of equerry 
to the Due de Maufrigneuse, was presented not only to 
the Dauphin, but also to the Dauphine, who was not 
averse to brusque and soldierly characters who had 
become noted for a past fidelity. Philippe thoroughly 
understood the part the Dauphin had to play ; and he 
turned the first exhibition of that spurious liberalism to 
his own profit, by getting himself appointed aide-de- 
camp to a marshal who stood well at court. 

In January, 1827, Philippe, who was now promoted 
to the Royal Guard as lieutenant-colonel in a regiment 
then commanded by the Due de Maufrigneuse, solicited 
the honor of being ennobled. Under the Restoration, 
nobility became a sort of perquisite to the roturiers 


352 


The Two Brothers. 


who served in the Guard. Colonel Bridau had lately 
bought the estate of Brambourg, and he now asked to 
be allowed to entail it under the title of count. This 
favor was accorded through the influence of his manj" 
intimacies in the highest rank of societj^, where he now 
appeared in all the luxury of horses, carriages, and liv- 
eries ; in short, with the surroundings of a great lord. 
As soon as he saw himself gazetted in the Almanack 
under the title of Comte de Brambourg, he began to 
frequent the house of a lieutenant-general of artilleiy, 
the Comte de Soulanges. 

Insatiable in his wants, and backed by the mistresses 
of influential men, Philippe now solicited the honor of 
being one of the Dauphin’s aides-de-camp. He had the 
audacity to say to the Dauphine that “ an old soldier, 
wounded on many a battle-fleld and who knew real war- 
fare, might, on occasion, be serviceable to Monseigneur.” 
Philippe, who could take the tone of all varieties of 
sycophancy, became in the regions of the highest social 
life exactly what the position required him to be ; just 
as at Issoudun, he had copied the respectability of 
Mignonnet. He had, moreover, a flne establishment 
and gave fetes and dinners ; admitting none of his old 
friends to his house if he thought their position in life 
likely to compromise his future. He was pitiless to the 
companions of his former debauches, and curtly refused 
Bixiou when that lively satirist asked him to sa}" a word 
in favor of Giroudeau, who wanted to re-enter the army 
after the desertion of Florentine. 

“ The man has neither manners nor morals,” said 
Philippe. 

“Ha! did he say that of me?” cried Giroudeau, 
“ of me, who helped him to get rid of his uncle I ” 


The Two Brothers, 


353 


“We ’ll pay him off yet,” said Bixiou. 

Philippe intended to marry Mademoiselle Amelie de 
Soulanges, and become a general, in command of a 
regiment of the Royal Guard. He asked so many 
favors that, to keep him quiet, they made him a Com- 
mander of the Legion of honor, and also Commander 
of the order of Saint Louis. One rainy evening, as 
Agathe and Joseph were returning home along the 
muddy streets, they met Philippe in full uniform, be- 
dizened with orders, leaning back in a corner of a hand- 
some coupe lined with yellow silk, whose armorial 
bearings were surmounted with a count’s coronet. He 
was on his way to a fete at the Elysee-Bourbon ; the 
wheels splashed his mother and brother as he waved 
them a patronizing greeting. 

“He’s going it, that fellow!” said Joseph to his 
mother. “Nevertheless, he might send us something 
better than mud in our faces.” 

“He has such a fine position, in such high society, 
that we ought not to blame him for forgetting us,” said 
Madame Bridau. “When a man rises to so great a 
height, he has many obligations to repay, many sacri- 
fices to make ; it is natural he should not come to see 
us, though he may think of us all the same.” 

“ M}^ dear fellow,” said the Due de Maufrigneuse 
one evening, to the new Comte de Brambourg, “ I am 
sure that your addresses will be favorably received ; but 
in order to marry Amelie de Soulanges, you must be 
free to do so. What have you done with your wife ? ” 

“ My wife?” said Philippe, with a gesture, look, and 
accent which Frederick Lemaitre was inspired to use in 
one of his most terrible parts. “Alas ! I have the mel- 
ancholy certainty of losing her. She has not a week to 
23 


354 


The Two Brothers, 


live. My dear duke, don’t know what it is to marr}' 
beneath you. A woman who was a cook, and has the 
tastes of a cook ! who dishonors me — ah ! I am much 
to be pitied. I have had the honor to explain m}^ posi- 
tion to Madame la Dauphine. At the time of the mar- 
riage, it was a question of saving to the family a million 
of francs which my uncle had left by will to that person. 
Happily, my wife took to drinking; at her death, I 
come into possession of that million, which is now in 
the hands of Mongenod and Sons. I have thirty thou- 
sand francs a year in the five per cents, and my landed 
property, which is entailed, brings me in forty thousand 
more. If, as I am led to suppose. Monsieur de Sou- 
langes gets a marshal’s baton, I am on the high-road, 
with my title of Comte de Brambourg, to becoming 
general and peer of France. That will be the proper 
end of an aide-de-camp of the Dauphin.” 

After the Salon of 1823, one of the leading painters 
of the day, a most excellent man, obtained the manage- 
ment of a lottery-oflice near the Markets, for the mother 
of Joseph Bridau. Agathe was fortunately able, soon 
after, to exchange it on equal terms with the incumbent 
of another office, situated in the rue de Seine, in a house 
where Joseph was able to have his atelier. The widow 
now hired an agent herself, and was no longer an ex- 
pense to her son. And yet, as late as 1828, though she 
was the directress of an excellent office which she owed 
entirely to Joseph’s fame, Madame Bridau still had no 
belief in that fame, which was hotly contested, as all 
true glory ever will be. The great painter, struggling 
with his genius, had enormous wants ; he did not earn 
enough to pay for the luxuries which his relations to 


The Two Brothers. 


355 


society, and his distinguished position in the young 
School of Art demanded. Though powerfully sustained 
by his friends of the Cenacle and by Mademoiselle des 
Touches, he did not please the Bourgeois. That being, 
from whom comes the money of these days, never unties 
its purse-strings for genius that is called in question ; 
unfortunately^ Joseph iiad the classics and the Institute, 
and the critics who cry up those two powers, against 
him. The brave artist, though backed by Gros and 
Gerard, by^ whose influence he was decorated after the 
Salon of 1827, obtained few orders. If the ministry of 
the interior and the King’s household were with difficulty 
induced to buy some of his greatest pictures, the shop- 
keepers and the rich foreigners noticed them stiU less. 
Moreover, Joseph gave way rather too much, as we 
must all acknowledge, to imaginative fancies, and that 
produced a certain inequality in his work which his ene- 
mies made use of to deny his talent. 

“High art is at a low ebb,” said his friend Pierre 
Grassou, who made daubs to suit the taste of the bour- 
geoisie, in whose appartements fine paintings were at a 
discount. 

“You ought to have a whole cathedral to decorate ; 
that’s what you want,” declared Schinner; “then you 
would silence criticism with a master-stroke.” 

Such speeches, which alarmed the good Agathe, only 
corroborated the judgment she had long since formed 
upon Philippe and Joseph. Facts sustained that judg- 
ment in the mind of a woman who had never ceased to 
be a provincial. Philippe, her favorite child, was he not 
the great man of the family at last ? in his early errors 
she saw only the ebullitions of y'outh. Joseph, to the 
merit of whose productions she was insensible, for she 


356 


The Two Brothers. 


saw them too long in process of gestation to admire them 
when finished, seemed to her no more advanced in 1828 
than he was in 1816. Poor Joseph owed money, and 
was bowed down by the burden of debt ; he had chosen, 
she felt, a worthless career that made him no return. 
She could not conceive why they had given him the 
cross of the Legion of honor. Philippe, on the other 
hand, rich enough to cease gambling, a guest at the 
fetes of Madame, the brilliant colonel who at all reviews 
and in all processions appeared before her eyes in splen- 
did uniforms, with his two crosses on his breast, realized 
all her maternal dreams. One such day of public cere- 
mony effaced from Agathe’s mind the horrible sight of 
Philippe’s misery on the Quai de I’Ecole ; on that day 
he passed his mother at the self-same spot, in atten- 
dance on the Dauphin, with plumes in his shako, and 
his pelisse gorgeous with gold and fur. Agathe, who to 
her artist son was now a sort of devoted gray sister, 
felt herself the mother of none but the dashing aide-de- 
camp to his Royal Highness, the Dauphin of France. 
Proud of Philippe, she felt he made the ease and hap- 
piness of her life, — forgetting that the lottery-office, 
by which she was enabled to live at all, came tlmough 
Joseph. 

One day Agathe noticed that her poor artist was 
more worried than usual by the bill of his color-man, 
and she determined, though cursing his profession in 
her heart, to free him from his debts. The poor woman 
kept the house with the proceeds of her office, and took 
care never to ask Joseph for a farthing. Consequently 
she had no money of her own; but she relied on 
Philippe’s good heart and well-filled purse. For three 
years she had waited in expectation of his coming to 


The Two Brothers, 


357 


see her ; she now imagined that if. she made an appeal 
to him he would bring some enormous sum ; and her 
thoughts dwelt on the happiness she should feel in 
giving it to Joseph, whose judgment of his brother, 
like that of Madame Descoings, was so unfair. 

Saying nothing to Joseph, she wrote the following 
letter to Philippe : — 

To Monsieur le comte de Brambourg: 

My dear Philippe, — You have not given the least little 
word of remembrance to your mother for five years. That 
is not right. You should remember the past, if only for the 
sake of your excellent brother. Joseph is now in need of 
money, and you are floating in wealth ; he works, while you 
are flying from fete to fete. You now possess, all to your- 
self, the property of my brother. Little Borniche tells me 
you cannot have less than two hundred thousand francs a 
year. Well, then, come and see Joseph. During your visit, 
slip into the skull a few thousand-franc notes. Philippe, 
you owe them to us; nevertheless, your brother will feel 
grateful to you, not to speak of the happiness you will give 

Your mother, 

Agathe Bridau, me Rouget. 

Two days later the concierge brought to the atelier, 
where poor Agathe was breakfasting with Joseph, the 
following terrible letter : — 

My dear Mother, — A man does not marry a Made- 
moiselle Amelie de Soulanges without the purse of For- 
tunatus, if under the name of Comte de Brambourg he 
hides that of 

Your son, 

Philippe Bridau. 

As Agathe fell half-fainting on the sofa, the letter 
dropped to the floor. The slight noise made by the 


358 


The Two Brothers, 


paper, and the smothered but dreadful exclamation 
which escaped Agathe startled Joseph, who had for- 
gotten his mother for a moment and was vehemently 
rubbing in a sketch; he leaned his head round the 
edge of his canvas to see what had happened. The 
sight of his mother stretched on the floor made him 
drop palette and brushes, and rush to lift what seemed 
a lifeless body. He took Agathe in his arms and car- 
ried her to her own bed, and sent the servant for his 
friend Horace Bianchon. As soon as he could ques- 
tion his mother she told him of her letter to Philippe, 
and of the answer she had received from him. The 
artist went to his atelier and picked up the letter, 
whose concise brutality had broken the tender heart of 
the poor mother, and shattered the edifice of trust her 
maternal preference had erected. When Joseph re- 
turned to her bedside he had the good feeling to be 
silent. He did not speak of his brother in the three 
weeks during which — we will not say the illness, but — 
the death agon}^ of the poor woman lasted. Bianchon, 
who came every day and watched his patient with the 
devotion of a true friend, told Joseph the truth on the 
first day of her seizure. 

“ At her age,” he said, “ and under the circum- 
stances which have happened to her, all we can hope to 
do is to make her death as little painful as possible.” 

She herself felt so surely called of God that she 
asked the next day for the religious help of old Abbe 
Loraux, who had been her confessor for more than 
twenty- two 3'ears. As soon as she was alone with him, 
and had poured her griefs into his heart, she said — as 
she had said to Madame Hochon, and had repeated to 
herself again and again throughout her life : — 


The Two Brothers, 


359 


“ What have I done to displease God? Have I not 
loved Him with all my soul ? Have I wandered from 
the path of grace ? What is my sin ? Can I be guilty 
of wrong when I know not what it is? Have I the 
time to repair it?” 

“ No,” said the old man, in a gentle voice. “ Alas ! 
your life seems to have been pure and your soul spot- 
less ; but the eye of God, poor afflicted creature, is 
keener than that of his ministers. I see the truth too 
late ; for you have misled even me.” 

Hearing these words from lips that had never spoken 
other than peaceful and pleasant words to her, Agathe 
rose suddenly in her bed and opened her eyes wide, 
with terror and distress. 

“ Tell me ! tell me ! ” she cried. 

“ Be comforted,” said the priest. “ Your punish- 
ment is a proof that 3’ou will receive pardon. God 
chastens his elect. Woe to those whose misdeeds meet 
with fortunate success ; they will be kneaded again in 
humanity until they in their turn are sorel}" punished 
for simple errors, and are brought to the maturity of 
celestial fruits. Your life, my daughter, has been one 
long error. You have fallen into the pit which 3rou 
dug for 3^ourself ; we fail ever on the side we have our- 
selves weakened. You gave your heart to an unnat- 
ural son, in whom 3’ou made your glory, and you have 
misunderstood the child who is your true glory. You 
have been so deeply unjust that you never even saw 
the striking contrast between the brothers. You owe 
the comfort of your life to Joseph, while 3’our other 
son has pillaged 3^ou repeatedlj^ Tlie poor son, who 
loves you with no return of equal tenderness, gives you 
all the comfort that your life has had ; the rich son. 


360 


The Two Brothers, 


who never thinks of you, despises 3^ou and desires your 
death — ” 

“ Oh ! no,” she cried. 

“Yes,” resumed the priest, “your humble position 
stands in the way of his proud hopes. Mother, these 
are j^our sins ! Woman, your sorrows and your an- 
guish foretell that you shall know the peace of God. 
Your son Joseph is so noble that his tenderness has 
never been lessened by the injustice 3’our maternal 
preferences have done him. Love him now ; give him 
all your heart during your remaining da^ s ; pray for 
him, as I shall pra3^ for 3"Ou.” 

The e3’es of the mother, opened b3^ so firm a hand, 
took in with one retrospective glance the whole course 
of her life. Illumined b3" this flash of light, she saw her 
involuntar3^ wrong-doing and burst into tears. The old 
priest was so deepl3" moved at the repentance of a being 
who had sinned solel3^ through ignorance, that he left 
the room hastily lest she should see his pity. 

Joseph returned to his mother’s room about two 
hours after her confessor had left her. He had been 
to a friend to borrow the necessary money to pa3" his 
most pressing debts, and he came in on tiptoe, thinking 
that his mother was asleep. He sat down in an arm- 
chair without her seeing him ; but he sprang up with 
a cold chill running through him as he heard her sa3", 
in a voice broken with sobs, — 

“ Will he forgive me? ” 

“ What is it, mother? ” he exclaimed, shocked at the 
stricken face of the poor woman, and thinking the words 
must mean the delirium that precedes death. 

“Ah, Joseph! can 3’ou pardon me, my child?” she 
cried. 


The Two Brothers. 


361 


“ For what? ” he said. 

“I have never loved you as you deserved to be 
loved.” 

“ Oh, what an accusation ! ” he cried. “ Not loved 
me ? For seven years have we not lived alone together ? 
All these seven years have you not taken care of me 
and done everything for me ? Do I not see you every 
day, — hear j^our voice ? Are 3’ou not the gentle and 
indulgent companion of my miserable life ? You don’t 
understand painting ? — Ah ! but that ’s a gift not alwaj’s 
given. I was saying to Grassou only j^esterday: 
‘ What comforts me in the midst of my trials is that I 
have such a good mother. She is all that an artist’s wife 
should be ; she sees to everything ; she takes care of 
my material wants without ever troubling or worrying 
me.’” 

“ No, Joseph, no ; you have loved me, but I have not 
returned 3^ou love for lo\e. Ah ! would jf^'at I could live 
a little longer — Give me your hand.” 

Agathe took her son’s hand, kissed it, held it on her 
heart, and looked in his face a long time, — letting him 
see the azure of her eyes resplendent with a tenderness 
she had hitherto bestowed on Philippe only. The 
painter, well fitted to judge of expression, was so struck 
by the change, and saw so plainly how the heart of his 
mother had opened to him, that he took her in his 
arms, and held her for some moments to his heart, 
crying out like one beside himself, — “My mother! 
oh, my mother ! ” 

“ Ah ! I feel that I am forgiven ! ” she said. “ God 
will confirm the child’s pardon of its mother.’* 

“ You must be calm : don’t torment youi’self ; hear 
me. I feel myself loved enough in this one moment for 


362 


The Two Brothers, 


all the past,” he said, as he laid her back upon the 
pillows. 

During the two weeks’ struggle between life and death, 
there glowed such love in every look and gesture and 
impulse of the soul of the pious creature, that each effu- 
sion of her feehngs seemed like the expression of a life- 
time. The mother thought only of the son ; she herself 
counted for nothing ; sustained by love, she was una- 
ware of her sufferings. She used the innocent words of 
childhood. D’Arthez, Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, 
Pierre Grassou, and Bianchon often kept Joseph com- 
pany, and she heard them talking art in a low voice in a 
corner of her room. 

“Oh, how I wish I knew what color is!” she ex- 
claimed one evening as she heard them discussing one 
of Joseph’s pictures. 

Joseph, on his side, was sublimely devoted to his 
mother. He never left her chamber ; answered tender- 
ness by tenderness, cherishing her upon his heart. The 
spectacle was never afterwards forgotten by his friends ; 
and they themselves, a band of brothers in talent and 
nobility of nature, were to Joseph and his mother all 
that they should have been, — friends who prayed, and 
truly wept ; not saying prayers and shedding tears, but 
one with their friend in thought and action. Joseph, 
inspired as much by feeling as by genius, divined in 
the occasional expression of his mother’s face a desire 
that was deep hidden in her heart, and he said one 
day to d’Arthez, — 

“ She has loved that brigand Philippe too well not to 
want to see him before she dies.” 

Joseph begged Bixiou, who frequented the Bohemian 
regions where Philippe was still occasionally to be found, 


The Two Brothers. 


863 


to persuade that shameless son to play, if only out of 
pity, a little comedy of tenderness which might wrap 
the mother’s heart in a winding-sheet of illusive happi- 
ness. Bixiou, in his capacity as an observing and 
misanthropical scoffer, desired nothing better than to 
undertake such a mission. When he had made known 
Madame Bridau’s condition to the Comte de Brambourg, 
who received him in a bedroom hung with yellow dam- 
ask, the colonel laughed. 

“ What the devil do you want me to do there?” he 
cried. “ The only service the poor woman can render 
me is to die as soon as she can ; she would be rather 
a sorry figure at my marriage with Mademoiselle de 
Soulanges. The less my family is seen, the better my 
position. You can easily understand that I should like 
to bury the name of Bridau under all the monuments 
in Pere-Lachaise. My brother irritates me by bringing 
the name into publicity. You are too knowing not to 
see the situation as I do. Look at it as if it were your 
own : if you were a deputy, with a tongue like yours, 
you would be as much feared as Chauvelin ; you would 
be made Comte Bixiou, and director of the Beaux- Arts. 
Once there, how should you fike it if your grandmother 
Descoings were to turn up? Would you want that 
worthy woman, who looked like a Madame Saint-Leon, 
to be hanging on to j^ou? Would j^ou give her an arm 
in the Tuileries, and present her to the noble family 
you were trying to enter? Damn it, j^ou’d wish her 
six feet under ground, in a leaden night-gown. Come, 
breakfast with me, and let us talk of something else. 
I am a parvenu, my dear fellow, and I know it. I don’t 
choose that my swaddling-clothes shall be seen. My 
son will be more fortunate than I ; he will be a great 


364 


The Two Brothers, 


lord. The scamp will wish me dead ; I expect it, — or 
he won’t be my son.” 

He rang the bell, and ordered the servant to serve 
breakfast. 

“The fashionable world wouldn’t see you in your 
mother’s bedroom,” said Bixiou. “ What would it 
cost you to seem to love the poor woman for a few 
hours?” 

“ Whew ! ” cried Philippe, winking. “So you come 
from them, do you? I’m an old camel, who knows all 
about genuflections. My mother makes the excuse of 
her last illness to get something out of me for Joseph. 
No, thank you ! ” 

When Bixiou related this scene to Joseph, the poor 
painter was chilled to the very soul. 

“ Does Philippe know I am ill?” asked Agathe in a 
piteous tone, the day after Bixiou had rendered an ac- 
count of his fruitless errand. 

Joseph left the room, suffocating with emotion. The 
Abbe Loraux, who was sitting by the bedside of his 
penitent, took her hand and pressed it, and then he 
answered, “Alas! my child, you have never had but 
one son.” 

The words, which Agathe understood but too well, 
conveyed a shock which was the beginning of the end. 
She died twenty hours later. 

In the delirium which preceded death, the words, 
“ Whom does Philippe take after?” escaped her. 

Joseph followed his mother to the grave alone. Phi- 
lippe had gone, on business it was said, to Orleans ; 
in reality, he was driven from Paris by the following 
letter, which Joseph wrote to him a moment after their 
mother had breathed her last sigh : — 


The Two Brothers, 


365 


Monster! my poor mother has died of the shock your 
letter caused her. Wear mourning, but pretend illness; I 
will not suffer her assassin to stand at my side before her 
coffin. 

Joseph B. 

The painter, who no longer had the heart to paint, 
though his bitter grief sorely needed the mechanical 
distraction which labor is wont to give, was surrounded 
by friends who agreed with one another never to leave 
him entirely alone. Thus it happened that Bixiou, who 
loved Joseph as much as a satirist can love any one, 
was sitting in the atelier with a group of other friends 
about two weeks after Agathe’s funeral. The servant 
entered with a letter, brought by an old woman, she 
said, who was waiting below for the answer. 

Monsieur, — To you, whom I scarcely dare to call my 
brother, I am forced to address myself, if only on account of 
the name I bear. — 

Joseph turned the page and read the signature. The 
name “ Comtesse Flore de Brambourg ” made him 
shudder. He foresaw some new atrocity on the part 
of his brother. 

“ That brigand,” he cried, “ is the devil’s own. And 
he calls himself a man of honor ! And he wears a lot 
of crosses on his breast I And he struts about at court 
instead of being bastinadoed ! And the scoundrel is 
called Monsieur le Comte I ” 

“ There are many like him,” said Bixiou. 

“After all,” said Joseph, “the Rabouilleuse de- 
serves her fate, whatever it is. She is not worth pity- 
ing ; she ’d have had my neck wrung like a chicken’s 
without so much as saying, ‘ He ’s innocent.’ ” 


366 


The Two Brothers. 


Joseph flung away the letter, but Bixiou caught it in 
the air, and read it aloud, as follows : — 

Is it decent that the Comtesse Bridau de Brambourg.^ 
should die in a hospital, no matter what may have been her t 
faults? If such is to be my fate, if such is your determina- 
tion and that of monsieur le comte, so be it; but if so, will 
you, who are the friend of Doctor Bianchon, ask him for a 
permit to let me enter a hospital ? 

The person who carries this letter has been eleven consecu- 
tive days to the hotel de Brambourg, rue de Clichy, without 
getting any help from my husband. The poverty in which 
I now am prevents my employing a lawyer to make a legal 
demand for what is due to me, that I may die with decency. . 
Nothing can save me, I know that. In case you are unwill- 
ing to see your unhappy sister-in-law, send me, at least, the 
money to end my days. Your brother desires my death ; he 
has always desired it. He warned me that he knew three 
ways of killing a woman, but I had not the sense to foresee 
the one he has employed. 

In case you will consent to relieve me, and judge for your- 
self as to the misery in which I now am, I live in the rue du 
Houssay, at the corner of the rue Chantereine, on the fifth 
fioor. If I cannot pay my rent to-morrow I shall be put out 
— and then, where can I go? May I call myself 
Your sister-in-law, 

Comtesse Flore de Brambourg. 

“ What a pit of infamy ! ’’ cried Joseph ; “ there is 
something under it all.” 

“ Let us send for the woman who brought the 
letter ; we may get the preface of the stor^^,” said 
Bixiou. 

The woman presently appeared, looking, as Bixiou 
observed, like perambulating rags. She was, in fact, 
a mass of old gowns, one on top of another, fringed 


The Two Brothers. 


367 


with mud on account of the weather, the whole mounted 
on two thick legs with heavy feet which were ill- covered 
by ragged stockings and shoes from whose cracks the 
water oozed upon the floor. Above the mound of rags 
rose a head like those that Charlet has given to his 
scavenger- women, caparisoned with a filthy bandanna 
handkerchief slit in the folds. 

“What is your name?” said Joseph, while Bixiou 
sketched her, leaning on an umbrella belonging to the 
year II. of the Republic. 

“ Madame Gruget, at your service. I’ve seen better 
days, my young gentleman,” she said to Bixiou, whose 
laugh afironted her. “ If my poor girl had n’t had the 
ill-luck to love some one too much, j^ou would n’t see 
me what I am. She drowned herself in the river, my 
poor Ida, — saving your presence ! I ’ve had the folly 
to nurse up a quaterne, and that ’s why, at seventy- 
seven years of age, I ’m obliged to take care of sick 
folks for ten sous a day, and go — ” 

“ — without clothes?” said Bixiou. “My grand- 
mother nursed up a trey, but she dressed herself 
properly.” 

“ Out of my ten sous I have to pay for a lodging — ” 
“ What ’s the matter with the lady you are nursing? ” 
“ In the first place, she has n’t got any money ; and 
then she has a disease that scares the doctors. She 
owes me for sixty days’ nursing ; that ’s why I keep on 
nursing her. The husband, who is a count, — she is 
really a countess, — will no doubt pay me when she is 
dead; and so I’ve lent her all I had. And now I 
have n’t anything ; all I did have has gone to the pawn- 
brokers. She owes me forty-seven francs and twelve 
sous, beside thirty francs for the nursing. She wants 


368 


The Two Brothers. 


to kill herself with charcoal. I tell her it ain’t right ; 
and, indeed, I ’ve had to get the concierge to look after 
her while I ’m gone, or she ’s likely to jump out of the 
window.” 

“ But what ’s the matter with her? ” said Joseph. 

“ Ah ! monsieur, the doctor from the Sisters’ hos- 
pital came ; but as to the disease,” said Madame 
Gruget, assuming a modest air, “ he told me she must 
go to the hospital. The case is hopeless.” 

“ Let us go and see her,” said Bixiou. 

“ Here,” said Joseph to the woman, “ take these ten 
francs.” 

Plunging his hand into the skull and taking out all 
his remaining money, the painter called a coach from 
the rue Mazarin and went to find Bianchon, who was 
fortunately at home. Meantime Bixiou went off at full 
speed to the rue de Bussy, after Desroches. The four 
friends reached Flore’s retreat in the rue du Houssay 
an hour later. 

“ That Mephistopheles on horseback, named Philippe 
Bridau,” said Bixiou, as they mounted the staircase, 
“has sailed his boat cleverly to get rid of his wife. 
You know our old friend Lousteau? well, Philippe paid 
him a thousand francs a month to keep Madame Bridau 
in the society of Florine, Mariette, Tullia, and the Val- 
Noble. When Philippe saw his crab-girl so used to 
pleasure and dress that she could n’t do without them, • 
he stopped paying the money, and left her to get it as 
she could — it is easy to know how. By the end of 
eighteen months, the brute had forced his wife, stage 
by stage, lower and lower ; till at last, by the help of a 
young officer, he gave her a taste for drinking. As he 
went up in the world, his wife went down; and the 


The Two Brothers, 


369 


countess is now in the mud. The girl, bred in the 
country, has a strong constitution. I don’t know what 
means Philippe has lately taken to get rid of her. I am 
anxious to study this precious little drama, for I am 
determined to avenge Joseph here. Alas, friends,” he 
added, in a tone which left his three companions in 
doubt whether he was jesting or speaking seriously, 
“ give a man over to a vice and you ’ll get rid of him. 
Did n’t Hugo say : ‘ She loved a ball, and died of it ’ ? 
So it is. My grandmother loved the lottery. Old 
Rouget loved a loose life, and Lolotte killed him. 
Madame Bridau, poor woman, loved Philippe, and per- 
ished of it. Vice ! vice ! my dear friends, do you want 
to know what vice is? It is the Bonneau of death.” 

“ Then you ’ll die of a joke,” said Desroches, laughing. 

Above the fourth floor, the young men were forced to 
climb one of the steep, straight stairways that are 
almost ladders, by which the attics of Parisian houses 
are often reached. Though Joseph, who remembered 
Flore in all her beauty, expected to see some frightful 
change, he was not prepared for the hideous spectacle 
which now smote his artist’s eye. In a room with bare, 
unpapered walls, under the sharp pitch of an attic roof, 
on a cot whose scanty mattress was filled, perhaps, with 
refuse cotton, a woman lay, green as a body that has 
been drowned two days, thin as a consumptive an hour 
before death. This putrid skeleton had a miserable 
checked handkerchief bound about her head, which had 
lost its hair. The circle round the hollow eyes was red, 
and the eyelids were like the pellicle of an egg. Noth- 
ing remained of the body, once so captivating, but an 
ignoble, bony structure. As Flore caught sight of the 
visitors, she drew across her breast a bit of muslin which 
24 


370 


The Two Brothers. 


might have been a fragment of a window-cuitain, for it 
was edged with rust as from a rod. The young men 
saw two chairs, a broken bureau on which was a tallow- 
candle stuck into a potato, a few dishes on the floor, and . 
an earthen fire-pot in a corner of the chimney, in which 
there was no fire ; this was all the furniture of the room. 
Bixiou noticed the remaining sheets of writing-paper, 
bought from some neighboring grocery for the letter 
which the two women had doubtless concocted together. 
The word disgusting is a positive to which no super- 
lative exists, and we must therefore use it to convey the 
impression caused by this sight. When the dying 
woman saw Joseph approaching her, two great tears 
rolled down her cheeks. 

“She can still weep!’^ whispered Bixiou. “A 
strange sight, — tears from dominos! It is like the 
miracle of Moses.” 

“ How burnt up I ” cried Joseph. 

“ In the fires of repentance,” said Flore. “ I cannot 
get a priest ; I have nothing, not even a crucifix, to 
help me see God. Ah, monsieur I ” she cried, raising 
her arms, that were like two pieces of carved wood, 

“ I am a guilty woman ; but God never punished any 
one as he has punished me I Philippe killed Max, who 
advised me to do dreadful things, and now he has killed 
me. God uses him as a scourge ! ” 

“Leave me alone with her,” said Bianchon, “and . 
let me find out if the disease is curable.” 

“ If you cure her, Philippe Bridau will die of rage,” 
said Desroches. “ I am going to draw up a statement 
of the condition in which we have found his wife. He 
has not brought her before the coufts as an adulteress, 
and therefore her rights as a wife are intact : he shall 


The Two Brothers. 


371 


have the shame of a suit. But first, we must remove 
the Comtesse de Brambourg to the private hospital of 
Doctor Dubois, in the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. 
She will be well cared for there. Then I will summon 
the count for the restoration of the conjugal home.” 

“ Bravo, ^esroches ! ” cried Bixiou. “ What a pleas- 
ure to do so much good that will make some people feel 
so badly ! ” 

Ten minutes later, Bianchon came down and joined 
them. 

“I am going straight to Despleins,” he said. “He 
can save the woman by an operation. Ah ! he will 
take good care of the case, for her abuse of liquor has 
developed a magnificent disease which was thought to 
be lost.” 

“ Wag of a mangier ! Is n’t there but one disease in 
life?” cried Bixiou. 

But Bianchon was already out of sight, so great was 
his haste to tell Despleins the wonderful news. Two 
hours later, Joseph’s miserable sister-in-law was re- 
moved to the decent hospital established by Doctor 
Dubois, which was afterward bought of him by the 
city of Paris. Three weeks later, the “Hospital Ga- 
zette” published an account of one of the boldest 
operations of modern surgery, on a case designated by 
the initials “ F. B.” The patient died, — more from 
the exhaustion produced by misery and starvation than 
from the effects of the treatment. 

No sooner did this occur, than the Comte de Bram- 
bourg went, in deep mourning, to call on the Comte 
de Soulanges, and inform him of the sad loss he had 
just sustained. Soon after, it was whispered about in 
the fashionable world that the Comte de Soulanges 


372 


The Two Brothers. 


would shortly marr}^ his daughter to a parvenu of great 
merit, who was about to be appointed brigadier-general 
and receive command of a regiment of the Royal Guard. 
De Marsay told this news to Eugene de Rastignac, as 
they were supping together at the Rocher de Cancale, 
where Bixiou happened to be. 

“It shall not take place!” said the witt}^ artist to 
himself. 

Among the many old friends whom Philippe now 
refused to recognize, there were some, like Giroudeau, 
who were unable to revenge themselves ; but it hap- 
pened that he had wounded Bixiou, who, thanks to 
his brilliant qualities, was everywhere received, and 
who never forgave an insult. One day at the Rocher 
de Cancale, before a number of well-bred persons who 
were supping there, Philippe had replied to Bixiou, 
who spoke of visiting him at the hotel de Brambourg : 
“You can come and see me when you are made a 
minister”. 

“ Am I to turn Protestant before I can visit you?” 
said Bixiou, pretending to misunderstand the speech ; 
but he said to himself, “ You may be Goliath, but I 
have got my sling, and plenty of stones.” 

The next day he went to an actor, who was one of 
his friends, and metamorphosed himself, by the all- 
powerful aid of dress, into a secularized priest with 
green spectacles ; then he took a carriage and drove 
to the hotel de Soulanges. Received by the count, on 
sending in a message that he wanted to speak with 
him on a matter of serious importance, he related in a 
feigned voice the whole story of the dead countess, 
the secret particulars of whose horrible death had been 
confided to him by Bianchon ; the history of Agathe’s 


The Two Brothers. 


373 


death ; the history of old Rouget’s death, of which the 
Comte de Brambourg had openly boasted ; the history 
of Madame Descoings’s death ; the history of the theft 
from the newspaper ; and the history of Philippe’s pri- 
vate morals during his earl}’^ days. 

“ Monsieur le comte, don’t give him your daughter 
until you have made every inquiry; interrogate his 
former comrades, — Bixiou, Giroudeau, and others.” 

Three months later, the Comte de Brambourg gave 
a supper to du Tillet, Nucingen, Eugene de Rastignac, 
Maxime de Trailles, and Henri de Marsay. The am- 
phitiyon accepted with much nonchalance the half- 
consolatory condolences they made to him as to his 
rupture with the house of Soulanges. 

“ You can do better,” said Maxime de Trailles. 

“ How much mone}" must a man have to marry a 
demoiselle de Grandlieu ? ” asked Philippe of de Marsay. 

“You? The}^ wouldn’t give you the ugliest of the 
six for less than ten millions,” answered de Marsay 
insolent!}'. 

“ Bah ! ” said Rastignac. “ With an income of two 
hundred thousand francs you can have Mademoiselle 
de Langeais, the daughter of the marquis ; she is thirty 
years old, and ugly, and she has n’t a sou ; that ought 
to suit you.” 

“ I shall have ten millions two years from now,” said 
Philippe Bridau. 

“ It is now the 16th of January, 1829,” cried du Til- 
let, laughing. “ I have been hard at work for ten years 
and I have not made as much as that yet.” 

“We’ll take counsel of each other,” said Bridau; 
“ you shall see how well I understand finance.” 

How much do you really own?” asked Nucingen. 


374 


The Two Brothers. 


“ Three millions, excluding my house and my estate, 
which I shall not sell ; in fact, I canuot, for the prop- 
erty is now entailed and goes with the title.” 

Nucingen and du Tillet looked at each other ; after 
that sly glance, du Tillet said to Philippe, “ My dear 
count, I shall be delighted to do business with you.” 

De Marsay intercepted the look du Tillet had ex- 
changed with Nucingen, and which meant, “We will 
have those millions.” The two bank magnates were at 
the centre of political affairs, and could, at a given time, 
manipulate matters at the Bourse, so as to pla}" a sure 
game against Philippe, when the probabilities might all 
seem for him and yet be secretly against him. 

The occasion came. In July, 1830, du Tillet and 
Nucingen had helped the Comte de Brambourg to make 
fifteen hundred thousand francs ; he could therefore feel 
no distrust of those who had given him such good ad- 
vice. Philippe, who owed his rise to the Restoration, 
was misled by his profound contempt for “ civilians ; ” 
he believed in the triumph of the Ordonnances, and was 
bent on playing for a rise ; du Tillet and Nucingen, who 
were sure of a revolution, played against him for a fall. 
The crafty pair confirmed the judgment of the Comte de 
Brambourg and seemed to share his convictions ; they 
encouraged his hopes of doubling his millions, and ap- 
parently took steps to help him. Philippe fought like 
a man who had four millions depending on the issue of 
the struggle. His devotion was so noticeable, that he 
received orders to go to Saint-Cloud with the Due de 
Maufrigneuse and attend a council. This mark of favor 
probably saved Philippe’s life ; for when the order came, 
on the 25th of July, he was intending to make a charge 
and sweep the boulevards, when he would undoubtedly 


i 


The Two Brothers. 375 

have been shot down b}’ his friend Giroudeaii, who 
commanded a division of the assailants. 

A month later, nothing was left of Colonel Bridau’s 
immense fortune but his house and furniture, his es- 
tates, and the pictures which had come from Issoudun. 
He committed the still further folly, as he said himself, 
of believing in the restoration of the elder branch, to 
which he remained faithful until 1834. The not incom- 
prehensible jealousy Philippe felt on seeing Giroudeau 
a colonel drove him to re-enter the service. Unluckily 
for himself, he obtained, in 1835, the command of a 
regiment in Algiers, where he remained three years in 
a post of danger, alwa3"s hoping for the epaulets of a 
general. But some malignant influence — that, in 
fact, of General Giroudeau, — continually balked him. 
Grown hard and brutal, Philippe exceeded the ordinary 
severit}^ of the service, and was hated, in spite of his 
braver^^ a la Murat. 

At the beginning of the fatal year 1839, while making 
a sudden dash upon the Arabs during a retreat before 
superior forces, he flung himself against the enemy, fol- 
lowed by only a single compan}^ and fell in, unfortu- 
nately, with the main body of the enemy. The battle 
was bloody and terrible, man to man, and only a few 
horsemen escaped alive. Seeing that their colonel was 
surrounded, these men, who were at some distance, 
were unwilling to perish uselessly in attempting to res- 
cue him. Thej^ heard his cry : “ Your colonel ! to me ! 
a colonel of the Empire ! ” but they rejoined the regi- 
ment. Philippe met with a horrible death, for the 
Arabs, after hacking him in pieces with their scime- 
tars, cut off his head. 

Joseph, who was married about this time, through the 


376 


The Two Brothers. 


good offices of the Comte de Serizy, to the daughter of 
a millionnaire farmer, inherited his brother’s house in 
Paris and the estate of Brambourg, in consequence of 
the entail, which Philippe, had he foreseen this result, 
would certainl}^ have broken. The chief pleasure the 
painter derived from his inheritance was in the fine col- 
lection of paintings from Issoudun. He now possesses 
an income of sixty thousand francs, and his father-in- 
law, the farmer, continues to pile up the five-franc 
pieces. Though Joseph Bridau paints magnificent pict- 
ures, and renders important services to artists, he is 
not yet a member of the Institute. As the result of a 
clause in the deed of entail, he is now Comte de Bram- 
bourg, a fact which often makes him roar with laughter 
among his friends in the atelier. 


Uuiwnsity . Juhii Wilsuu Sou, Cauibridge. 


\From the New York Tribune of October 13 , 1885 .] 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 

PERE GORIOT. Honors de Balzac. Translated. 
Boston : Roberts Brothers. 

In publishing a translation of Balzac’s “ Pere Goriot,” the Boston firm 
undertaking the enterprise seems to feel that there is some doubt as to 
the success of the experiment, which includes, if the public approve the 
initial essay, the presentation in English of several of the great French- 
man’s other works. Perhaps the slow recognition of Balzac’s genius by 
the American and English public may be capable of intelligible explana. 
tion. The magnitude of his work is alone sufficient to repel such as only 
look to French fiction for ephemeral sensation, while the seriousness of 
his purpose might intimidate those who imagined that he was didactic and* 
therefore dull. But the time should norw be ripe for the introduction of 
English-speaking people to an author who by right of genius stands alone 
among his contemporaries y and whose marvellous knowledge of human na- 
turey subtle analytic power^ encyclopcedic learningy and brilliant descriptive 
talent justify the daring comparison of his productive force with that of 
Shakespeare. 

To understand Balzac thoroughly, indeed, he must be read in the 
original and as a whole. Selected pieces from the “ Comedie Humaine ” 
may convey a sufficiently clear apprehension, for the public, of his powers, 
but a careful study of that wonderful scheme throughout is indispensable 
to a real knowledge of his aim and scope. The “ Comedie Humaine ” is 
the most remarkable work of its kind extant. It is not mere fiction. It 
is, as Balzac intended it to be, a faithful history of the France of his 
time ; a history so faithful and so detailed that were all other contem- 
porary literature destroyed, posterity could from this work reconstruct an 
exact and finished picture of the age. In his general preface (which the 
American publishers have judiciously prefixed to their translation of 
“ P^re Goriot ”) the author gives some account of his plan. His aim was 
to do for society what Buffon had done for the animal kingdom. Since, 
however, men and women are complex creatures, and since their acts and 


2 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 


sufferings are caused mainly by the influence of passions whose treatment 
demands a profound study of psychology, it is evident that the task of the 
novelist, or, as he might be better named, the social historian, must be 
much more difflcult than that of the naturalist. 

Balzac, however, supported by that confidence in its own powers which 
so often characterizes genius, grappled boldly with this arduous undertak- 
ing. He was to write the history of his time, nothing extenuating, and 
.setting down nought in malice, painting in their due proportions the vices 
and the virtues of the period, showing the springs that moved society, the 
passions that furnished motives to action, the meannesses, the magnanimi- 
ties, the rapacity, the self-sacrifice, the sensuality, the purity, the piety, 
the heathenism of his fellow men and women. His equipment for the 
work was splendid. His erudition was both extensive and curious. He 
knew not only common but recondite things. In science he had out- 
stripped his generation. In the “ Comedie Humaine ” may be recognized 
the practical embodiment of evolutionary philosophy. The influence of 
the environment upon character and conduct is always insisted upon by 
him. And because he never loses sight of tb« natural processes through 
which character is moulded and changed, his characters possess a peculiar 
reality and vitality. To him they were indeed living, and the rare faculty 
by which, in the alembic of his mind, all the complex influences and 
agencies concerned went to form, complete, and vivify these creations, has 
endowed them with so strong an individuality that they live and move 
still for the reader. Nothing that belonged to Balzac’s time escaped him, 
and he explored the obscurer lines of research as conscientiously as those 
more open and clear. Thus it is that there is to be found in his workL 
references to what are now thought the supernatural theories of the day, 
and he has sounded the depths of mysticism with the same devotion 
shown in his pursuit of physical science. 

Critics have regretted that he had no high moral aim ; but this regret 
seems to imply misapprehension of his purpose not less than error as to 
his achievements. His aim was to describe life as it was being lived 
under his eyes. That his tendencies were not debasing is shown by the 
striking contrast between his work and that of Zola. In the latter’s writ- 
ings the ugly, vile, and horrible is so elaborated, exaggerated, and kept in 
the foreground that it colors and characterizes everything. In Balzac 
there is not less realism, and nothing more graphic than his descriptions 
of the seamy side of life has ever been written. But there is no taint of 
lubricity and no suggestion of liking for the scenes so depicted. A 
sombre fire runs through all the pictures of low and vicious life, which, 
while enhancing the skill of the artist, moves to pity or indignation be- 
cause of the destinies so sadly fixed. Perhaps no better example of his 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 


3 


«tyle than “ Pere Goriot ” could be selected. Pere Goriot is the Lear of 
modern society ; and though the passions which move the characters are 
for the most part sordid and base, the pathos and power of the story are 
so great, that even in translation the genius of the master is unmistakable.; 
There is nothing in fiction more pitiful than the figure of old Goriot, 
and the skill of the creator, which sets down all the defects and limitations' 
of the hero, thereby accentuates his devotion and the ignoble tragedy of 
his fate. 

Balzac, however, never adopted the modern vice known as the "star 
system ” in dramatic management. There were no " sticks ” in his com- 
pany. Every character is complete, intelligible, consistent, progressive 
Neither does he pad. From beginning to end, save as regards his de- 
scriptions of things and places, every sentence has direct relation to the 
working out of the plot. And as to those long and minute descriptions, 
which have vexed some critics, they were written with the distinct and 
avowed purpose of preserving faithful likenesses which should be of 
use to the historian of the future. Nor are they tiresome, but often seem 
to sharpen the realization of the story, and in all cases increase the gen- 
eral impression of fidelity to facts. The style of Balzac is very remarkable 
for its power. It is nervous, full of suppressed fire, suggesting a brain st 
prolific of thoughts that the utmost care had to be exercised to prevent them 
from overcrowding one another. The concentrated force of expression fre- 
quefitly reminds one of Shakespeare, and bursts of marvellous impassioned 
eloquence — not of the frothy kind, but presenting truths deep as the centre — 
at intervals flash out, adding to the sense of repressed volcanic power which 
pervades these works. 

The defects of Balzac are those of his time and country. It is curious 
that while he himself finds no really lofty female characters in English 
fiction, even belittling the heroines of Scott, and advancing the strange 
theory that the neglect by Protestant peoples of the worship of the Virgin 
has lowered their standard of womanhood, — his own most ambitious 
types of piety and purity in woman exhibit less of his characteristic knowl- 
edge of human nature than any of his other characters. This type, in fact, 
he appears to have described from pure imagination, with the result that' 
his creations of this class are cold, unapproachable, abnormal, bloodless 
beings, whose goodness does not impress us as meritorious, because they 
are essentially incapable of wrong-doing. In a word, he has filled up the 
vacant niche with conventional angels, only removing their wings. As to 
the low plane of the ambitions which move so many of his characters, no 
doubt he would have said that he merely took the world as he found it; 
that these were the prevailing ambitions, and that he could not make 
society better than it was. And doubtless there is much force in this, 


4 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 


though it must be acknowledged that the France of Balzac’s time afforded 
almost as abundant material for satire as the Rome of Juvenal. 

Taking him at his own estimate, however, and accepting his view of the 
duties of the novelist under the given conditions, — a view, be it said, which 
is always open to doubt and dispute, — it is impossible not to admire the 
depth of his insight and the marvellous scope and comprehensiveness o£ 
his genius. The enterprise he undertook was gigantic, yet what he ac- 
complished was so monumental a work as to prove the justness of his 
self-appreciation. Some day, perhaps, a complete translation of the 
“ Comedie Humaine ” will be undertaken. Possibly the success of 
Messrs. Roberts’ venture may induce them to extend their enterprise. 
“ Cesar Birotteau,” and one or two more of Balzac’s stories, have been 
put into English already, though inadequately. There ought to be, in the 
United States and England, at the present time enough lovers of good liter- 
ature to make such an undertaking as a complete translation of this author 
remunerative. When we consider what masses of trash pour from mod- 
ern presses, and what capital is employed in reproductions of so-called 
classics which have become rare and obscure because they deserved obliv- 
ion, it seems reasonable to expect that Balzac would find purchasers if 
issued in the form suggested. 

The translation of “ Plre Goriot ” is very good, and Balzac is not the 
easiest author to translate. The publishers cannot do better than to intrust 
the succeeding volumes to the same capable hands, and it would be only justice 
to the translator to put his or her name on the titlepage. For it is a merito- 
rious deed to have turned into excellent, nervous English the prose of this 
great Frenchman, whose fire and fervor, clear sight aud powerful description, 
when contrasted with the average novel of the day, shine forth with redoubled 
splendor, and whose brilliant genius in the analysis of human character casts 
altogether into the shade the amateurish essays at psychologic fiction which 
are gravely spoken of in these degenerate times as the promising productions 
of a new and higher school of literary art. 


PERE GORIOT. A Novel. By HonorjS de Balzac. 
i2mo. 349 pages. Prefaced with Balzac’s own account of his 
plan in writing the “ Comddie Humaine,” xix pages. Half- 
bound in morocco, French style. Price $1.50. 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston 


THE RISE AND FALL OF C^SAR 
BIROTTEAU. 


“ * C6sar Birotteau,’ which is the latest addition to the series of 
iiew translations of Balzac’s novels, is one of the acknowledged master- 
pieces of modern fiction. It is strong in the best elements of Balzac’s# 
strength, and free from the objectionable atmosphere which is often in- 
troduced into his other stories. No other novel better illustrates the 
marvellous accuracy and realism which Balzac attained in the reproduc- 
tion of personal idiosyncrasies, manners, habits, peculiarities of dress, 
and material surroundings. Cesar Birotteau is quite as real as the man 
we are meeting every day ; a great deal more real than many of the his- * 
torical personages of his own epoch. He is a typical representative of 
the French bourgeois of the period of the Restoration, Coming up to 
Paris from the Provinces in his youth, we see the stamp of the middle 
class upon his square figure, his awkward gesture, his independence, his 
narrowness, his impenetrability to ideas. After the wise and prudent 
Constance becomes his wife and co-worker we follow rapidly the stages 
by which the two attain a remarkable commercial success. We see the 
honest, genuine, middle-class home life of Paris, with its limited 
ideas, its sweet and natural affections, its adhesion to class traits and 
sentiments. Then comes the dream of ambition, the land speculation, 
the inevitable sharper, quite as quick-witted and villanous in France 
as anywhere else, the collapse of the enterprise, the agonies of bank- 
ruptcy, and the slow but sure return to solvency and honor. No 
other book gives us quite so clear an impression, quite so vivid a 
picture, of the life of the French shopkeeper, and of the sentiment 
of honor in all commercial transactions which is a matter of life 
and death with him. Balzac portrays, with a marvellous fidelity, the 
agonies of soul through which a man passes who loves his credit 
as he loves his life, and to whom failure is practically death. There 
is a noble motive underlying the story; and almost before we are 
aware of it, we find this narrow-minded bourgeois transformed into a 
veritable hero under our very eyes, and at the end he leaves behind him 
an impression akin to that of martyrdom.” — Christian Union. 

* For the third of their series of Balzac’s works in English, Messrs. 
Roberts Brothers have fixed upon ‘ The Rise and Fall of C^sar 


2 


C£SAR BIROTTEAU. 


Birotteau.’ In his pictures of bourgeois life Balzac is as accurate, as 
striking, and as sympathetic as when his scenes are courts and palaces, 
and his actors and actresses dukes and duchesses. All his types stand 
out with the clearness of portraits. Cesar himself, his wife Constance, 
his daughter Cesarine, Roquin the notary, Vauquelin the great chem- 
ist, the Claparone Cruchots, Du Tillets, and the rest, are finely cut 
individualities that bear the mark of nature and genius. Of plot there is 
little worth speaking of. The book might as truly be named the fall and 
rise, as the rise and fall, of Cesar Birotteau ; for, tragic as its close is, the 
image of the perfumer that it leaves on the reader’s mind is that of a 
man infinitely superior to the successful trader of our first acquaintance, 
with his petty ostentation and paltry ambitions. The stroke of misfor- 
tune which tested him — a stroke of which Balzac well knew the force 
from frequent sad experiences — and his pretended friends and professed 
admirers, transfigured, while it killed him; and in the death of the honest 
merchant and righteous man we forgive and forget the foibles which had 
formerly hidden his true character from the world. Of the rich humor 
that lurks, like precious ore, even in the most serious seeming of Balzac’s 
narratives, there is an ample store in ‘Cesar Birotteau,’ and everywhere 
we have evidence of that scientific fidelity which he brought to bear on 
every subject that he touched. Even in discussing the huile ciphalique 
'he is equally correct from the chemical and the commercial standpoint. 
Few writers have combined such breadth of view with such exactness of 
detail. In both respects, ‘ Cesar Birotteau ’ is a masterpiece.” — Montreal 
Gazette. 

“ No single work of Balzac affords so clearly the clew to the secret of 
his greatness, and but few manifest so fully the height and the range of his 
genius, as doe? ‘ Cesar Birotteau.’ Given the materials that are here uti- 
lized, a newspaper-man would write some clever articles on finance, a legal 
reporter would compile a valuable treatise on bankruptcy, and a contribu- 
tor to the magazines would pen a pathetic if not striking story. But 
Balzac with the magic of his power transmutes these crude data into a 
poem. Seldom is he so stern and unfaltering in his fidelity to the truths 
I of nature as in this work ; and yet, despite of this, nay, rather of this fi- 
>delity, because of eagerness to grasp all the truth, he sees beyond the mere 
’details of life, the Ideal hovering over and permeating the Real. The 
bare facts of existence have but poor significance and scant value if they 
be not seen as symbols of the higher and better things which they typify. 
Birotteau’s failure, because of his parvenu ambition, his credulous spec- 
ulative spirit, and the malicious enmity of Du Tillet, is depicted with a 


CESAR BIROTTEACJ, 


3 


masterly hand. The conditions leading to it are identical in character, 
though differing perhaps in minor details, with those that obtained in 
these United States but a few years back, and still to some degree 
render our commercial classes no very enviable or desirable personages. 
But wherein Balzac manifests his unapproachable superiority over the 
Zolas and Daudets of our day is in the noble picture which he gives us of 
Birotteau and his family straining every nerve to pay all that is due every 
creditor, even after the settlement in the bankruptcy proceedings has 
been effected. True, as the mole-like among the Realists would assert, 
such examples of heroism are extremely rare. But just because they are, 
it is the duty of the poet to embody them in impressive works of art, so 
that humanity may be elevated to a plane where such nobility will not 
be rare. Such is the gospel of true Realism.”— The American Hebrew. 

“ Keeping in mind the plan upon which Balzac worked, — to describe 
all sorts of people, to depict life in all its varieties, to make, in fact, a 
social catalogue, constituting as complete and systematic a work in the 
natural history of men and women as might be made by the observer of 
ants or elephants, birds or fishes, — we have at least the comfort of study- 
ing different Parisian species, and of finding that, contrary to what might 
be — must be ? — presumed by the reader of ‘ Pere Goriot,^ there are 
some of the decent sort in the French capital. This narrative of a 
bourgeois perfumer who adhered to the royalist cause, sixty years ago, 
gathered some money, was decorated with the cross of the Legion of 
Honor, began to speculate, grew extravagant, went up like the well- 
known rocket and came down like its stick, — this is a particularly clean 
story and study of life. The family of Birotteau is a charming group. 
His faithful, sensible wife, and gentle, pure-minded daughter are so 
different from the female creatures depicted in the two preceding books 
of this issue that we can hardly understand why, since they must have 
inhabited Paris at nearly the same time with the characters in ‘ Pere 
Goriot,’ we got in that work not a single glimpse of them, and were 
forced to conclude there were no such species. 

“ But poor Birotteau himself is the best figure, because he ends honor- 
ably and cleanly. His death, after his recovery from insolvency and his 
reinstatement in credit, is a pathetic but true stroke of the novelist’s art. 
And what is notable about it is that Balzac, in relating it, shows his 
appreciation of the moral dignity of Birotteau’s recovery and exit ; he 
does not handle these incidents coarsely or cynically, but as sympa- 
thetically as one could ask. So, too, he sketches the characters of 
Popinot and Pillerault with a firm but gentle hand, and makes them 


4 


CESAR BIROTTEAU, 


both win our esteem. On the whole, it is a pleasing study of French 
life, and is made the more attractive by its dashes of cheerful humor.” 
«— The American {Philadelphia). 

“ The Balzac novel translated this time is ‘ Cesar Birotteau.’ It relates 
the career of a bourgeois Frenchman in mercantile life, and is one of 
the most powerful and realistic novels ever written in any tongue, with- 
out a shade of French immorality, and with an occasional dash of humor 
to enlighten those sombre pages that we expect in Balzac. The book is 
a striking contrast to its predecessor in the series, and exhibits effectively 
the Shakspearian range of the pen to which we owe it. This series is a 
gratifying success, and there is reason for congratulation that it is likely 
to bring the complete works of Balzac to American book-shelves in so 
very adequate a translation.” — ” Templeton ” in Hartford Courant. 

“ Balzac's ‘ Comedie Humaine ’ is the only undertaking of its kind ever 
attempted. His intention was to give to posterity a true picture of 
French civilization of the first half of the nineteenth century. Anthony 
Trollope imitated him, only on a much smaller scale. Trollope’s characters 
were mainly those who frequented the drawing-rooms of polite society 
and were never known to do anything bad, while Balzac’s were from 
every walk of life, and true representatives of the ‘ Comedy of Human 
Life.’ Although he dealt with life as he really found it, yet his works 
have none of the vileness of the French novels of the present day. 
It is true he gave the darker side of life and painted it in vivid colors, 
yet in such a way that, instead of exciting the passions, it rather moves 
to pity. Every one of his characters have their part to play, and through- 
out his entire works there is not a dummy. His style is undoubtedly the 
most powerful of any novelist who ever lived, and his understanding of 
human nature equalled Shakspeare’s. 

“The publishers of the present translations (Messrs. Roberts Brothers, 
Boston) consider the first three books they have issued as an experiment 
to be continued only by the demand that may arise. ‘ The Duchesse de 
Langeais,’ ‘ P^re Goriot,’ and ‘ Cesar Birotteau ’ have already been 
published, and it is to be hoped that the other books will speedily 
follow, for the translations have been made without losing any of the 
power of the original.” — Times. 

One handsome i zmo volume, uniform with “ P^re Goriot ” and “ The 

Duchesse de Langeais.” Bound in half morocco. French style. 

Price, $1.50. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 


From The Art Interchange, a Household Jour^ 
naly of February 13, 1886. 


THE DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 

WITH 

An Episode under the Terror, The Illustrious 
Gaudissart, a Passion in the Desert, and 
A Hidden Masterpiece. 

By HONORS DE BALZAC. 

Since the day? when Thackeray and Dickens were issuing in numbers 
those novels which have delighted so many readers, or George Eliot’s pub- 
lishers were able to announce a new novel from her pen, there has been no 
series of novels given to the public so notable and so well worthy of wide 
attention on the part of adult readers as this translation of Balzac from the 
press of Roberts Brothers. If it be objected, as it perhaps will be, that there 
is a flavor of immorality in Balzac, and that his works are not well adapted 
to general reading, it can be shown, we think, at least so far as the charge 
of immorality is concerned, that the objection is a superficial one ; and that 
while there is much in the times and society which form the ground-work 
of Balzac’s marvellous stories that is improper and fortunately counter to 
our civilization, still, Balzac’s tone concerning these very things is a healthy 
one, and his belief in purity and goodness, his faith in the possibilities of 
humanity, is too clear to admit of a question. He gives us wonderful pic- 
tures of the world he lived in. It was not altogether a good world. As it 
was he portrays it. Its virtues he praises and its vices he condemns, not 
^ by a page of mere moralizing, but by events and action, which, swaying the 
' ethics of society with apparent uncertainty hither and thither, yet have an 
upward tread, even as they do in our world of to-day. “ The Duchesse de 
Langeais ” is the novel of this volume. It is from the Scenes de la Vie 
Farisienne of the Comedie Humaine. The temptation and struggle of the 
Duchess is one which could hardly, in our day, present itself to a pure- 
minded woman. In that day and time it could, and did; in spite of her 
wild abandonment to the lover who spurned her, the reader feels that 
Madame de Langeais was a noble-hearted woman, purer than those who 


counselled her a concealed enjoyment of her passion, nobler and better than 
the society which made her what she was. With great power and pathos is 
her story told. It is a very powerful scene when her lover meets her in the 
convent, and very dramatic is her tortured cry to the Mother Superior: 

“ This man is my lover 1 ” How strong and pitiful the end, and the sad 
commitment to the waves of what was a woman and now is nothing 1 The 
volume also contains four short stories. “ An Episode under the Terror,” 
from Scenes de la Vie Politique, is a story already familiar from previous 
translation, and which has drifted around in English as much perhaps as 
any of Balzac’s shorter stories. “ The Illustrious Gaudissart ” is from 
Scenes de la Vie de Province, an admirable example of Balzac’s humor. 
Gaudissart is a commercial traveller, — a drummer, in familiar parlance. He 
might be a drummer of to-day. If he were, he could easily find employ- 
ment with a high-class house. The shrewdness and impudence of the class 
has not varied much since Balzac’s time. Gaudissart adds to his line a 
children’s magazine and the agency of a Life Insurance Company. He is 
advised by the humorist of a provincial town to try his powers of persua- 
sion on a man who turns out to be a harmless, but decided lunatic. The 
scene between the two is humorous in the extreme. When Gaudissart calls 
the insuring one’s life for a large sum “ the discounting of future genius,” ^ 
he adds a persuasive phrase to the repertoire of the life-insurance agent. 
“A Passion in the Desert” is from Scenes de la Vie Militaire, and is as 
singular a tale as might be imagined from the affection of a man and a 
tiger. The last of the four is “ The Hidden Masterpiece,” from l^tudes 
Philosophiques. Here, to the readers of this edition, Balzac is seen in a 
new vein. Here is something of the strange, weird touch of Hawthorne, 
something of unreality, and the lingering vision of a possible moral. The 
translation could hardly be in better hands. The English is delightfully 
clear and nervous. Whoever reads these books will know Balzac very well, 
and it is safe to assume that they will like him very much. 


One handsome \ 7 .mo volume^ uniform with ^^Plre Goriof* 
and “ Cesar BirotteauP Bound in half morocco y Fre?ich 
style. Price $1.50. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 

Boston. 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH 


COUSIN PONS. 

♦ 

It is late in the day to speak of the genius of Balzac, but it is worth while to 
commend the reader to the admirable translation of a number of his works 
issued by an American firm of publishers. The work of Miss Wormeley, whose 
name does not appear upon the titlepage, but who is said to be the translator, is 
deserving of the highest praise. Balzac’s intensely idiomatic French, as well as 
his occasional treatment of recondite subjects, and his frequent elucidation of 
complicated business transactions, render the translation of his works difficult ; but 
the present translator has turned the original into clear and fluent English, read- 
ing not at all like a translation, yet preserving Balzac’s vigorous and characteristic 
style. It is not only the best translation of Balzac which we have, — which would 
not be high praise, since English versions of his novels have hitherto been few and 
fragmentary, — but one of the most excellent translations of any French author 
which we have met. The publishers have laid the American readers under 
obligation both by undertaking the enterprise of presenting Balzac in an English 
dress, and by their selection of a translator ; and it is most desirable that they 
should complete the work so well begun by putting within the reach of English- 
speaking readers the remainder of that marvellous body of fiction, The Comidie 
Humaine." — The Church Review. 

“ ‘ Cousin Pons ’ is the latest translation in the Balzac series now being issued 
by Roberts Brothers, Boston. It is a strong story of friendship and of greed. To 
all intents and purposes the narrative indicates a complete and perfect triumph of 
vice over virtue ; but vice is painted in such hideous colors, and virtue is shown in 
such effulgent beauty, as to make the moral well-nigh awe-inspiring. Balzac does 
not stay the natural course of events. He permits each character to work out its 
own results, and then makes the impression desired by comparative methods. In 
this, as in all his works, the wonderful writer manifests a familiarity with the 
ethics of life which has gained for him the eternal remembrance and gratitude 
of all readers ; and it is fair to presume that the Balzac now being translated and 
published by the Roberts Brothers will revive his name and bring again to his 
feet the world of English-speaking people.” — Springfield Republican. 

“ The last translation from Balzac brought out by Roberts Brothers in their 
new and beautiful edition is one of the famous Frenchman’s most original stories. 
It is, in fact, one of the most extraordinary and original novels ever written, and 
only the mind of a genius could have conceived such a peculiar plot. The heroine 
of the novel — for whom the principal character sacrifices his comfort, his pleasure, 
and Indeed his life ; for whom many other characters in the book sacrifice their 
honor ; and around whom all the excitement and interest centres — is, strangely 
enough, not a woman ; and yet this heroine calls forth the most ardent and 
passionate devotion a man is capable of, and her influence is elevating and not 
degrading. The manner in which a mania of any kind can absorb a rnan, body 
and soul, is wonderfully brought out in ‘Cousin Pons;* for the heroine of the 
book is a collection of curios. 

“ Those who have formed a hasty judgment of Balzac from reading the ‘ Duchesse 
de Langeais’ would do well to read ‘ Cousin Pons.’ Balzac sees and depicts 
virtue as perfectly as vice, and it is his faculty of describing beauty as well as 
ugliness which has made him famous. The delicacy of perception which enabled 
him to perceive and describe every shade of feeling in ‘ Cousin Pons ’ and to 
appreciate the nobility of Schmucke’s character is the chief characteristic of 
genius. The reader must read all the ‘ Scenes from Parisian Life ’ to have any 
full conception of Balzac’s greatness. His breadth of vision, his dramatic power, 
his searching analysis of the most transient emotions, and his quick perceptions of 
beauty, are all evident in ‘ Cousin Pons.’ It is an interesting, exciting novel, a 
perfect piece of literary execution, and a story which is, if sad, neither coarse nor 
immoral.” — Boston Transcript. ^ 

One handsome lamo volume, uniform with ” Pere Goriot,*’ 
“ Duchesse de Langeais,” “ Cesar Birotteau,” ‘‘ Eugenie Grandet.” 
Bound in half morocco, French style. Price, $1.50. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 


THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 


“ That exceedingly rare thing, — a French novel possessing all the virile nervous- 
ness of its kind and yet wholesome to the core, elevating in its tendency, and free 
even from the slightest moral taint or uncleanness, — we have it in Balzac’s ‘ Coun- 
try Doctor.’ It IS, if we mistake not, the fifth of the series of Balzac translations 
which the well-known Boston firm had the enterprise and the good fortune to 
publish. For though somewhat daring at first as an experiment, there is now 
no doubt that as the publishers sensibly enriched English literature by those ex- 
quisite translations of an author all too long neglected and overlooked by English- 
speaking people, so the venture has also proved a profitable one for them in a 
monetary sense. And here it must be said that if regret at anything in this book 
has to be expressed it is because of the continued omission of the name of the 
translator. In that respect the book is almost a marvel. This translation can no 
more be compared to the usual slapdash work glutting the market, made by per- 
sons lacking almost every requisite necessary for the task, than Balzac himself can 
be compared to the salacious, hollow-brained scamps who in English minds figure 
exclusively as French novelists. The translation is, in fact, exquisite. . . . 
The person who did the translation combines these two rare qualifications, — a 
thorough knowledge of French and a perfect mastery over Englisn.” — New York 
Graphic. 

“ The many-sidedness of Balzac’s genius is strikingly exhibited in ‘ Le Medicin 
de Campagne.’ It demonstrates also the injustice of much of the criticism di- 
rected against this great writer by Sainte-Beuve and others who have followed 
his lines of interpretation. It is significant that this book was one of Balzac’s 
favorites. It is significant because the work is characterized by none of the 
qualities which it has been customary to attribute to his fiction, and which do, in 
fact, appear in much of it. The ‘ Country Doctor ’ is not a novel in the ordinary 
sense of the term. It is rather a prose poem, and one of the most beautiful, capti- 
vating, and ennobling in any literature. Balzac himself said of it that it was a pic- 
ture of ‘ the Gospel in action,’ and the definition is keen and succinct. It is indeed 
a story of the noblest and most practical philanthropy, so enriched by philosophy, so 
broadened by profound economic analysis, so full of deep suggestion and piercing 
criticism of social problems that it might constitute a statesman’s text-book, and 
convey useful ideas to the most experienced administrators. . . . The devotion of 
the country doctor to the community whose interests he had taken in charge is in- 
deed touching and beautiful, but such instances are not wholly unfamiliar. Whaf 
gives this storv its charm and distinction is the art of the writer in developing 
before us, by tne simplest and least obtrusive means, one of those really majestic 
characters whose lives men follow with never-failing interest, and whose biogra- 
phies constitute the most fascinating literature, since they illustrate and stimulate 
the higher potentialities latent in every human breast. ... It only remains to be 
said that Miss Wormeley has translated the book excellently, and has preserved 
as nearly as possible every shade of the author’s meaning. The enterprise of the 
publishers in undertaking to English Balzac is certainly commendable, but it 
could not have succeeded as it has but for the good fortune which sent them so 
capable and sympathetic a translator.” — New York Tribune. 

• 

One handsome \2mo volume, uniform with “ Pere Goriotf 
“ Duchesse de Lajtgeaisf “ Cisar Birotteauf “ Eugittie Grandetf 
and ” Cousin PonsP Bound in half morocco, French style. 
Price, $1.50. 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 


BAL2A.C IN ENGLISH 


EUGENIE GRANDET. 


A GREAT NOVEL. 

“ Honors de Balzac wrote many books to each of which this title may justly 
be applied. We apply it in the present instance to ‘ Eugenie Grandet,’ one of 
his very greatest works, — one which, in the opinion of a large number of persons, 
divides with ‘ Le P^re Goriot ’ the honor of being his masterpiece. Englishmen 
are prone to hold that in English fiction there is no such beautiful and complete 
embodiment ofa good woman as Fielding’s Amelia ; Frenchmen, we should fancy, 
must ascribe a similar position to Eugenie Grandet. The book of which she is the 
central figure, the Rembrandt-contrast to the ignoble spirits by whom she is sur- 
rounded, has been beyond a doubt one of the most widely read of French novels ; 
and now that it has been rendered into excellent English, and presented in a 
highly attractive form, it will undoubtedly pass into the mental experience of a 
multitude who would otherwise have lacked more than a hearsay knowledge of 
its beauty. The translation of the novels so far published by the Messrs. Roberts 
Brotliers deserves more than the mere word that can be given to it here. Although 
French is a language much easier to read than German, it is a far more difficult 
task to turn French prose into idiomatic English prose than to do the same by 
German, and we do not remember ever to have seen any translation of French 
into English which is so near being uniformly idiomatic as these versions of 
Balzac now under consideration.” — Boston Post. 

“ Not to know Balzac, Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson has declared to be an 
ignorance ‘that will soon be excuseless, and we hope rare.’ Not to know Balzac 
is certainly to lose one of the highest intellectual pleasures and to shut out one of 
the profoundest educational forces of literature in this century. Balzac’s work is 
throughout full of power.” — Brooklyn Times. 

” This volume comes to us as the fourth in the series of translations of Balzac’s 
novels, published by this well-known Boston house. His sketches of character 
are nowhere more strong and masterly than in this book, where he depicts the 
miser, Grandet, in all the repulsiveness which belongs to a narrow, grasping, and 
unscrupulous nature, in contrast with his patient, long-suffering, repressed, but 
faithful and tender wife. Their only child, Eugenie, is the heroine of the story; 
and her strong, simple, and loving nature, which leads her to sacrifice her future 
for a brilliant but unworthy cousin, who wins her heart, and then forgets her in 
his search for a more ambitious alliance, furnishes a theme where Balzac’s literary 
skill and keen analysis of motives are seen at their best. We regret that the 
name of the translator has not been made public, for his work is well done, and 
-deserves special commendation in these days, when so many poor translations of 
, ijreign works are offered to the public.” — Portland Press. 

The London Athenceum says of the translation of Balzac which Roberts 
Brothers are publishing, that it is “very much above the average of English 
translation of French.” 


One handsome \7.mo volume, uniform with “ Pire Goriot f Duchesse de 
Langeais," and “ Cisar Birotteau.” Bound in half morocco, French style. 

Price, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 

Boston. 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH 


THE ALKAHEST;. 

Or, The House of Claes, 


Among the novels of Honord de Balzac “ La Recherche de I’Absolu ” has 
always counted one of the masterpieces. The terrible dominion of a fixed idea 
was never shown with more tremendous force than is depicted in the absorption of 
all the powers, the mind, and body of Balthazar Claes by the desire to discover 
the Absolute, the “ Alkahest.” The lovely old mansion at Duai, its sumptuous 
furniture, its priceless pictures, its rare bric-i-brac, the pyramid of costly tulips 
that glowed in the garden, are painted with a touch rich and vivid, which shows 
Balzac at his best. This great novelist was always minute and exhaustive in his 
descriptions ; but in this story the material in which he worked was of a sort to 
arouse his enthusiasm, and he evidently revels in the attractive setting which its 
events demand. The tale itself is penetrating and powerful. — Boston Courier. 

The “ Alkahest ” is a strong story, and all through it is to be felt that sub- 
current of vitalizing energy which in so many of Balzac’s books seems to propel 
the principal characters as in a special atmosphere, hurrying them with a kind of 
fiery yet restrained impatience toward the doom assigned them. . . . The scien- 
tific and mystical features of the story are cleverly handled. Balzac made deep 
inquests before writing his philosophical studies, as he called them, and he was 
always rather ahead than abreast of the thoughts of his time. The central prob- 
lem dealt with here is, of course, as complete a mystery to-day as when the 
“ Recherche de I’Absolu ” was written. . . . Miss Wormeley has made a charao 
teristically excellent translation of a book which presents many unusual difficulties 
and abstruse points. It is rarely possible to assert with any truth that an English 
version of a French book may be read by the public with nearly as much profit 
and apprehension as the original ; but it is the simple fact in this instance, and it 
is certainly remarkable enough to deserve emphasis. — //ew York Tribune. 

He who would know the art of novel-writing may go to Balzac and find an art 
that is natural, simple, and beautiful in its exercise, and is directed to both thought 
and feeling in behalf of humanity, and that realizes something good and enduring. 
He may look without much trouble at “ The Alkahest ; or. The House of Claes,” 
one of the most illustrative of the author’s method and aim, aud excelling in 
philosophical analysis and in philosophical value. 

In this work Balzac has opposed the heart and intellect in a contest amid the 
conditions of social life, and sought to reveal their comparative nature and influ- 
ence, siding, although a remarkable example himself of intellectual development 
and force, in favor of the heart, — that Flemish heart which is ideal of all that is 
powerful for good and happiness in domestic life, and determines Flemish charac- 
ter so strongly that the qualities of that character impress themselves fixeffiy in 
Flemish painting and architecture. — Sunday Globe, Boston. 

One more scene in Balzac’s wonderful “ Comedy of Human Life.” It is “ The 
Alkahest; or. The House of Claesj” the greatest of the “philosophical studies.” 
It tells of the mad, persistent, vain endeavors of Balthazar, a scientist, to dis- 
cover the Absolute. Through years he squanders his estate in fruitless experi- 
ments. It is a drama that slowly chills the blood. Then comes the fiyiale. 
“ Suddenly the dying man raised himself by his wrists, and cast on his frightened 
children a look which struck like lightning ; the hairs that fringed the bald head 
stirred, the wrinkles quivered, the features were illumined with spiritual fires, a 
breath passed across that face and rendered it sublime. He raised a hand 
clenched in fury, and uttered with a piercing cry the famous word of Archimedes, 
‘Eureka!’ — I have found.” It is the way Balthazar found the Absolute. — 
Philadelphia Press. 


One handsome 1 2mo vohtme, uniform with “ Pere Goriotf “ The 
Duchesse de Langeaisf “ CSsar Birotteauf “ Eugenie Grandetf 
“ Cousin Ponsf “ The Country Doctor f and “ The Two Brothers^ 
Bound in half ttiorocco, French style. Price^ $i-50. 

ROBER'I S BE OTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 


BALZAC’S PHILOSOPHICAL NOVELS. 


THE MAGIC SKIN.— LOUIS LAMBERT. 
— ^ SERAPHITA.^ — 


TRANSLATED BY 

KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION TO EACH NOVEL BY 

GEORGE FREDERIC PARSONS. 

[From Le Livre, Revue du Monde Litiiraire^ Paris, March, 1889.] 

There are men so great that humanity passes generations of existences in 
measuring them. . . . Certain it is that to-day the French Academy makes Bal- 
zac’s work the theme for its prize of eloquence, that the great writer is translated 
and commented upon in foreign countries, and that in Paris and even at Tours, 
his native place, statues are in process of being erected to him. . . . But the 
marble of M. Chapus, the bronze of M. Fournier, — Balzac sad or Balzac seated, — 
are of little consequence to the glory of the writer standing before the world, who 
bore a world in his brain and brought it forth, who was at once the Diderot and 
the Rabelais of this century, and who, above and beyond their fire, their imagina- 
tion, their superabounding life, their hilarious spirit, paradoxical and marvellously 
sagacious as it was, had in the highest degree the mystical gift of intuition, and is 
able, beyond all others, to open to us illimitable vistas of the Unseen, 

It is this side of Balzac’s genius which at the present time attracts and pre- 
occupies foreign critics. Mile Katharine Prescott Wormeley has undertaken to 
translate the “ Com^die Huraaine ” into English. She has already published 
several volumes which show a most intelligent sympathy and a talent that is both 
simple and vigorous. Lately she translated “ La Peau de Chagrin ” (“ The Magic 
Skin”), and now, taking another step into the esoteric work of the Master, she gives 
to the Anglo-Saxon public “ Louis Lambert.” But she does not venture upon this 
arduous task without support. Mr. George Frederic Parsons has undertaken in a 
long introduction to initiate the reader into the meaning hidden , or, we should rather 
say, encased, in the psychologic study of a lofty soul which ends by inspiring mun- 
dane minds with respect for its seeming madness and a deep sense of the Beyond. 
. . . Many critics, and several noted ones, have so little understood the real mean- 
ing of “ Louis Lambert ” and “ Seraphita ” that they have wondered why the au- 
thor gave them a place in the “ Com^die Humaine,” which, nevertheless, without 
them would be a temple without a pediment, as M, Taine very clearly saw and 
said. Mr. Parsons takes advantage of Miss Wormeley’s translation to state and 
prove and elucidate this truth. The commentary may be thought a little long, a 
little replete, or too full of comparisons and erudite reference ; but all serious 
readers who follow it throughout will never regret that they have thus prepared 
themselves to understand Balzac’s work. We call the attention of the philosophi- 
cal and theosophical journals to this powerful study. [Translated.] 

♦ 

Handsome i2mo volumes; bound in half Russia, French style. 
Price, ^1.50 per volume. 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. 


BALZAC IN ENGLISH. 


Modeste Mignon. 

TRANSLATED BY 

KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. 


In “ Modeste Mignon ” we still have that masterly power of analysis, keen, 
incisive, piercing superficiality and pretence, as a rapier pierces a doublet, but we 
have in addition the puritv and sweetness of a genuine light comedy, — a comedy 
which has for its central object the delineation of the mysteries of a young girl’s 

mind. .... , • /■ . . 

As a whole, “ Modeste Mignon is not only a masterpiece of French art, but 
a masterpiece of that master before whom later novelists must pale their ineffec- 
tual fires. As the different examples of Balzac’s skill are brought before the pub- 
lic through the excellent translations by Miss Wormeley, none competent to judge 
can fail to perceive the power of that gigantic intellect which projected and carried 
out the scheme of the Com^die Humaine, nor fail to understand the improvement 
in literature that would result if Balzac’s methods and aims were carefully studied 
by all who aspire to the name of novelist. — New York Home Journal. 

The publm owes a debt of gratitude to the industrious translator of Balzac’s 
masterpieces. They follow one another with sufficient rapidity to stand in striking 
contrast with each other. The conscientious reader of them cannot but lay down one 
after another with an increasing admiration for their author’s marvellous grasp upon 
the great social forces which govern the thought and actions of men. In “ Modeste 
Mignon,” as in “ Eugenie Grandet,” we find that the tremulous vibrations of first 
love in the heart of a young and pure-minded girl are not deemed unworthy of this 
great artist’s study. The delicate growth of a sentiment which gradually expanded 
into a passion, and which was absolutely free from any taint of sensuality, is 
analyzed in “ Modeste Mignon” with consummate skill. The plot of this book 
is far from extraordinary. It is even commonplace. But where in these days 
shall we find another author who can out of such a simple plot make a story like 
the one before us? The many-sidedness of Balzac’s genius is widely acknowl- 
edged ; but there are probably tew people among those whose acquaintance with 
his writings has been necessarily limited to translations who could conceive of him 
producing such a bright and sparkling story, thoroughly realistic, full of vitalizing 
power, keen analysis, and depth of study and reflection, brilliantly imaginative, 
and showing an elasticity in its creative process which cannot fail to attract every 
lover of a higher and better art in fiction. 

But light and delicate as Balzac’s touch generally is throughout this volume, 
there is also shown a slumbering force which occasionally awakens and delivers a 
blow that seems as if it had been struck by the hammer of Thor. He ranges over 
the whole scale of human passion and emotion, penetrates into the very inmost 
chambers of the heart, apprehends its movements, and lays bare its weakness 
with a firm and yet delicate touch of his scalpel. The book has been excellently 
translated by Miss Wormeley. She is fully in sympathy with the author, and has 
caught his spirit, and the result is a translation which preserves the full flavor, 
vigor, and delicacy of the original. 


One handsome \2mo volume., uniform with “ P'bre Goriot.*' “ The 
Duchesse de Langeaisf Cesar Birotteau^'' '•'‘Eugenie Grandet^'' 
‘•'Cousin Ponsf " The Country Doctor'' "The Two Brothers.," and 
" The Alkahest." Half morocco, French style. Price, ^ 1 . 50 . 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 

Boston. 


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